Bonded Wands, Bonded Spirits
by PhoenixTailAndHolly
Summary: Ron and Hermione visit Ollivander's just after the end of the war. Replacing the wands they had grown to hate, will their new wands live up to their expectations? Rated M for future chapters
1. Chapter 1

As they entered the shop, Ron noticed it that was far from ready to be opened. There were scorchmarks all along the back wall, and most of the windows had been boarded shut, making Ollivander's wand shop dimmer than usual. Boxes of wands were scattered about, placed haphazardly on the floor by an ancient warlock while another, younger witch was catagorizing them, and placing them on shelves that reached up to the ceiling. Mr. Ollivander himself sat in a rickety chair, and occasionally gave some directions.

'Mister Ollivander,' Ron said, to indicate their arrival, 'I see you are getting your affairs back in order.'

Ollivander turned his head, and gave him a weak smile. 'So much left to do,' he said in a wheezy voice, 'and so little time to do it. Half the brittish wizarding world will be knocking on my door for a new wand, I expect.'

'You look healthier,' Hermione said at his side, 'Is that a healing potion on your desk?'

'Yes, lass,' Ollivander replied, 'You have a keen eye.' He took a swig from the cup, and grimaced. 'Never was much interested in potions.'

Ollivander did look a bit better, Ron mused. He had been frail and weakened when they had first arrived at shell cottage; nothing short of a walking corpse. Bill and Fleur had taken good care of him, and though they were obviously not very taken with the idea of having so many guests in their tiny cottage by the sea, they had made an effort keeping him well fed and comfortable.

Ron noticed that there were far fewer wands in the shop than when he had last visited Ollivander's.

'Did the Death Eaters steal all of your wands?' Ron asked.

'They tried to,' Ollivander replied, as he set the cup with the healing potion back down onto the desk, 'But a wand shop is not easily robbed. I have invested in some very powerful wards and enchantments years ago. Very... potent magic.'

Ron was quite sure potent was a euphemism for dark. There was an ever-present feeling of ominous doom in the wand shop; one that had been there since his first visit. It gave him goose-bumps whenever he entered. He felt Hermione shudder lightly. She probably felt it too.

'The Death Eaters came with the intent of robbery, but soon figured out they were very much outclassed. So in the end, they tried to burn the place down. You can see the fire spread quickly. I lost over half my inventory before my anti-inferno spell managed to control it.'

'Sir,' she said hesitantly, 'we can come back another time. We do not wish to bother you if you are not ready yet.'

'Nonsense,' Ollivander said, getting up and reaching for a cane, 'It would not do if you two don't walk out of my shop with the first pair of wands after the war.' Ollivander motioned them towards a set of ancient arm chairs, both of whom seemed to be more than licked by flames. Ron heard his chair groan in protest as he lowered his weight on it.

'Now, if memory serves me right, you had had a fourteen inch wand made of willow, with a core of unicorn hair. Headstrong and rash, but dependable to a fault. Let's see if we can find you a good replacement.'

Ollivander motioned his assistant to hand him a slightly singed box. It held a long wand made of hawthorne, with a dragon heartstring core. It did not feel right in his hands, and Ron was not surprised to find it perform weak magic in his hands. Ollivander turned and rummaged through a small set of boxes that had just been organised by the assistant. He handed him an almost black wand that was made of oak.

'Fourteen and a quarter inch,' Ollivander said, 'Strong, defiant, and very well suited for offensive spells.'

He weighed it in his hand. The weight shifted uncomfortably, and it's smooth surface did not suit his fingers. Ollivander soon placed it back on the shelf. 'No worries,' he said, 'We'll find you something.'

Ron spent somewhere between twenty to thirty minutes with different wands in his hands, but none had yet felt right. Hermione had been silent all along, content with just watching him. He felt her hand slip into his after Ollivander had taken another wand from him. She squeezed his hand, and her fingers interlaced with his.

Ron gave her hand a slight squeeze, enough to let her know he felt the same way. Both of them had lost their wands when they had been taken by snatchers over two months ago. Hermione had been using Bellatrix LeStrange's wand, but he could sense it revolted her. She no longer took it out except for the most unavoidable spellwork, and simply asked Ron to do everything else for her. Pettigrew's wand was less obtrusive for him, but Ron could feel that even though it's allegiance was with him, this wand would never _belong_ to his hands. It was like a stranger he was a good footing with; they accepted each other, but they would never be friends. He could only imagine Hermione's disgust with the wand in her pocket; a wand that had tortured her, and still resisted her every action.

'I have a very nice willow wand here,' Ollivander said, 'Fourteen and one half inches, with a-'

Ollivander watched them intently for a moment, then gave a slight smile. 'My apologies,' he said, 'I should have noticed it.'

'Excuse me?' Ron said, 'Noticed what?'

'Miss Granger,' he continued, not answering Ron, 'Your wand was ten and three quarter inches, yes? Vine wood, dragon heartstring core? Pragmatic, deft, but in need of guidance. A firm hand. It was decorated with flowers. A childish wand.'

Hermione's look of indignation was lost to Ollivander, who had turned without need of an answer. She was obviously a bit ruffled by Ollivander's characterization of her old, trusty wand as _childish_. Ron knew she had hardly done anything childish with that wand.

'I see now that you have both outgrown your old wands,' Ollivander said, 'And presenting you with a new wand would be like giving a Comet 140 to a quidditch player. He or she would perform much better with a more mature broom.'

Ollivander was rummaging through a set of wands from a shelve at the back.

'You are in luck,' he said, as he returned with a handful of boxes. He asked his assistant to gather up several other boxes as he opened one. The box contained two wands, one larger than the other.

'These wands were made from the same materials,' he explained, 'and come from the same producer. They share a bond, a connection as it were. They are meant for mature wizards and witches that also share a bond.' He offered the box to Ron, who took out the longer of the wands. Then, Hermione took the other wand.

The wand felt different in his hand, but he was not sure what caused it. It seemed to weigh differently; roll in his hand easier, but at the same time filled him with an apprehension. He looked at Hermione. She was a little pink faced, but placed the wand back in the box.

'I'm sorry mister Ollivander,' she said, 'It did not feel exactly right.'

'Not to worry, miss Granger. I have been selling wands long enough to know not to expect a first wand to be the right one.' Ron replaced the wand next to the one Hermione had held, and Ollivander closed the box with the ease that came from years of experience. His mind was already back to the other boxes, a sizeable stack by now.

'It is always a bit tricky,' Ollivander said, as he fingered through the stack of boxes, 'Getting the materials and sizes right for two wands in a single box is a daunting task. So many variables to keep track of.'

Hermione glanced at Ron for just a second, but he could see her confusion. Ollivander seemed to know what he was doing, and Ron had the distinct feeling he was explaining it more to himself than to anyone else.

'Blackthorne with a core of kelpie mane,' he said, presenting the contents of another box of wands, 'a slight difference in height between the two. Functional and loyal.'

Again, Ron took out the longer of the wands, holding it in his right hand as he motioned it through the air. It felt a little obtrusive. It also felt old.

'Sorry,' he said, as he replaced the wand in the box. Hermione quickly followed suit. Ollivander closed the box, and returned to the stack of unchecked wandboxes. He lifted one up and shook it. 'No,' he muttered, 'those will not suit them I think.' He reached for another box, which was white with a blue trim and seemed less battered than the rest, 'Not my preference, but perhaps…'

Ollivander opened the box and presented the wands to Ron and Hermione. Ron was about to take the longer of the two, but held off, allowing Hermione to reach in first. There was a notable difference in size between the two wands in the box, and though the materials seemed to be the same, their colours were different. Hermione took the smaller, white wand, leaving Ron to take the longer, dark brown wand.

'Veela hair,' Ollivander said, 'Which I personally don't use as material. Too temperamental for my tastes. The wood is spruce. These wands require a bold and firm hand to get to their maximum potential.'

Ollivander's words went unnoticed. As Ron's fingers wrapped around the slim handle of the wand, he could feel that this wand was right for him. He cast a simple spell, and felt satisfied when it turned out to be as powerful and easy as his own wand had felt. Hermione was levitating a small vase, a look of relief etched on her face; she too had found her wand.

'Shall I wrap them in gift paper?' Ollivander said with a smile.

'What do we owe you, mister Ollivander?' Ron asked, hoping Hermione and Ron would be able to afford these beautiful new wands. Ollivander turned the now empty box over and checked the price. 'The veela hair is a costly material,' he said, 'and both wands were finished with a great sense of detail.' Ron felt his stomach plunge. 'These wands are sold for fifteen galleons a piece.'

'Fortunately,' Ollivander said, 'I am somewhat in your debt. If what I heard about the elder wand is indeed correct, I doubt Voldemort would have seen much use in me after he had acquired it. I was living off borrowed time was it was, and your arrival was more than timely.'

'Mister Weasley, you were instrumental in getting me to safety. The wand is a gift to you in thanks for your efforts.'

'Miss Granger,' he then said, turning to Hermione, 'You were quite undone after our arrival in shell cottage. That did not stop you from helping me regain some of my strength. You even spoon-fed me, while still recovering from your own ordeal. Let this wand be my token of gratitude.'

* * *

Ron and Hermione were seated at a muggle ice cream parlour, both enjoying a nice cone of ice. Ron's was simple; just four helpings of forest fruit stacked on top of each other. Hermione's was a helping of yoghurt and cherry topped by a helping of lime. She had brightened considerably. They had been mostly silent towards each other all day long. Part of that was the anticipation and uncertainty of their visit to the wand shop. Hermione had desperately wanted to rid herself of her wand, and had feared that Ollivander might not be ready for them yet. Ron had been silent because it was going to be the first day they would spend together without the presence of others. Hermione had slept in Ginny's room for over a week, and his mother had kept everyone busy by day. The Burrow had been uninhabited for two months, and though it still stood, it had become rather grimy. His mum seemed to have an endless list of chores for everyone to participate in.

Ron had the sneaking suspicion that his mother was deliberately assigning them on chores together only if she was also present. Twice now, had Hermione and Ron been 'volunteered' for the same chore, and twice had his mother been in the room at the same time.

They had developed a method of communication that his mother seemed to be unaware of. Hermione would look deeply into his eyes while scrubbing a cauldron or sweeping the floor, while Ron looked back. The eye contact would linger, and a shy grin would betray her feelings.

Only once did they have a moment together. His mum had been called outside because Harry and Ginny had nearly pruned the rhododendron down to its stump. His mother had been busy for five minutes repairing the damages, and Ron had spent most of that time locked in a fierce kiss with Hermione. Her fingers tangled into his hair while he rested his hands on her hips. It was a little awkward at first, both of them a little unsure of themselves, this terrain unfamiliar amongst the two of them.

Ron could feel his ears tingle. The memory of their snog still made him pink in the face. He hadn't thought that kissing her would feel so conflicted. He had known her for almost half his life, and could picture everything about her with eyes closed. But the instant he had reached down to kiss her, it also felt as if he knew nothing about her, and every movement felt strangely unfamiliar.

'Happy?' he asked, eyeing her.

'Very,' she replied, before taking the ice cream cone to her mouth. Ron gulped, but his eyes were glued to the scene of Hermione's lips wrapping around her one remaining serving of ice. It was a decidedly ungallant thought that crossed his mind then, which he was sure he would not be sharing with her. 'We should really be getting back to the Burrow,' she said after licking a stray bit of ice cream from the corner of her mouth (which further emblazed Ron's ears), 'Your mom will start to worry.'

'I was hoping we might go and practice a bit with our new… (he looked suspiciously to the muggles all around them) acquisitions.'

Hermione looked up into his eyes for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough to tell him she understood exactly what he had meant. Ron indeed wanted to test out their new wands, but it would give them a perfect excuse to have a moment of uninterrupted joy together. It also meant spending less time at the Burrow, which mean less time doing tedious chores.

'Lead the way,' Hermione said, picking up her old, frayed beaded handbag as she licked her ice cream once more. Ron got up (somewhat uncomfortable) and took her hand, and together, they walked towards an alley to disapparate.

Ron had taken them to a field not far from the Burrow. They had arrived with a sharp crack, and Ron nearly stumbled as his feet touched the ground. The remains of his ice cream fell to the ground. He looked at it sadly.

'Oh, cheer up,' Hermione said, 'It's just ice cream. Here, have some of mine.' She offered him a bite from what remained of her cone. It was really nothing more than the bottom bit of wafer, the part Ron liked least. So, in a fit a bravery, Ron instead brought his mouth to Hermione's, who more than willingly accepted.

The kiss started out without a tongue, but he could feel Hermione opening her mouth slightly, and so, when he followed suit, he quickly felt her tongue brushing his. He sought it out, and Hermione and Ron spent a good while kissing each other, the remains of their ice creams all but forgotten.

Ron felt his hands travel across Hermione's back, resting them on her hips or pulling slightly closer at her shoulder blades. They had barely kissed five times by now, and Ron was sure that getting too friendly too soon would not be appreciated by her. He had wanted to go further; much further actually, but even his brothers had all told him not to overstep his boundaries and be too frisky. It would backfire, they had said, and it would cost him in the long run. 'Let her set the pace,' Bill had said one evening, 'Girls like to be in charge of that.'

Ron had hardly needed to argue. Hermione certainly wasn't a person he was hoping would be cross with him, and though it took considerable effort, he wanted to be a good boyfriend to her. He thought he might be a bit old-fashioned actually, feeling it would be _improper_ of him to pressure her into going further. So why was it this difficult not to let his hands slide down? Why could he barely keep his hands on top of her clothing instead of below it? All he wanted was to reach down and feel her glorious body with his hands. Kiss every part of it. His body wanted her.

Hermione broke off the kiss with a bit of a startled gasp. She pulled back at least a foot from him. _Did I do something without thinking?_ Ron thought, _Bollocks!_

Hermione was getting all red-faced, and seemed unable to produce a coherent sentence.

'That's – I mean – Well.'

'Hermione,' Ron asked, 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing!' she said, startled from her trance, 'It's just that I – I hadn't been expecting – such enthusiasm down there.'

Ron wasn't exactly sure what she was referring to, so Hermione (now a violent shade of purple) pointed down to his pants.

_Bravo, Weasley, _Ron thought, _You just couldn't keep it down, could you?_

* * *

Both of them thoroughly embarrassed by what had just happened, they decided to continue up to the Burrow. In the meantime, Hermione had taken out her new wand, her fingers tracing the length of it. Ron followed suit, and before long, they had examined their wands a bit better. At Ollivander's, they had only taken a first look at the wands, and Ron realized he had missed many of the intricate details of both wands. Hermione's wand was absolutely straight, but bulged ever so slightly just above the handle. The top of the handle itself held a lovely engraved rose. Each of the engraved lines was filled with a very subtle blue the same colour as had been on the box.

His wand was more masculine. The handle was slightly bent, which caused it to fit perfectly into his hand. It was perfectly straight, and ended in a neatly rounded tip. The handle held a small engraved clockwork which was hidden from view as he held it. Hermione pointed her new wand to a pebble on the ground. Ron could sense she was going to levitate it, and the pebble was indeed, not a second later, zooming through the air. Ron tried something more advanced. Using the same spell, he also began levitating a pebble, which was a little bit bigger and lopsided. It easily lifted off the ground, and he made it serve in circles around Hermione's. She responded by making it fly around faster, and Ron deftly steered his pebble after hers. Hermione's pebble was quickly increasing in speed, but Ron found he could easily keep up. It was as if he knew exactly where it would be heading, and what speed it would be going.

'It looks like we have quite a bit of control over our wands already,' she said, quite proud of herself, 'I've studied wand lore a bit during our time in shell cottage. It seemed prudent to know a bit more, and I did not want to pester Ollivander too much with it. One of my books states that the bond between wizard and wand grows with each act of magic.'

'It's strange,' Ron said, 'but would you believe me if I told you I feel a strong bond with this wand already? As if I've been waiting for it all my life?'

'No,' Hermione said, 'I feel like that too! It feels like my own wand did, but differently too.'

'Just promise me you won't conjure any origami with it anymore, will you?'

'If you promise not to break my heart,' she replied. It was a quip, but not one she said with a light heart.

'I promise I will do my best.'

Hermione turned to face him again, and her hands found her way into his hair as she pulled him down to kiss him. Ron did his best to keep his nether regions away from her. An alarming situation had grown there, and he did not want to frighten her again. Hermione however rode up close to him, and Ron nearly fell backwards before he felt one of her arms untangle from his hair and slide down to his lower back. She pulled him closer, and Ron was quite sure she could feel his raging erection somewhere between the hem of her jeans and her navel. She did not seem to mind it.

Their kissing became more erratic. Ron wanted to taste her more, longer, and intensely. Hermione broke the kiss to plant a hundred little kisses all over his neck. Then, she reached back up, pouting her lips as an invitation for his own. He took her lower lip into his own, sucking it for a moment, until releasing it again. He did the same to her upper lip, then kissed both corners of her mouth. Hermione, flustered and obviously wanting more, brought her lips up to his. She had to stand on her toes to reach his mouth, and Ron rewarded her for it by passionately kissing her back, his tongue almost immediately pressed against hers.

* * *

They arrived at the Burrow over an hour later than they had said they would. Having rather enjoyed their time together, Ron and Hermione had not been in much of a rush to return to the busy and decidedly un-private household of his parents. Hermione had taken his hand in hers after some heated kissing, and they had taken the long way round to the house. His mother was in the doorway as they approached the house, her fists on her hips. Her chin jutted out from below her face.

'We are in serious trouble,' Ron whispered, and he heard Hermione gasp in quiet desperation.

'Ronald – Bilius – Weasley. I – have – never! _Never!_ Not only thirty minutes late! No owl explaining where you'd gone. I had expected more from you!'

Hermione had her head down, all but cowering under his mother's stare. She was fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

'Come, Hermione, dear,' his mother said gently, 'why don't you go upstairs and help Ginny clean up her room. It has become quite a mess.'

Hermione didn't need another excuse to escape his mother's disapproving stare. She gave him one last squeeze of sympathy, then let his hand go to dash inside. His mother rounded on him.

'Don't think for one moment that I'm going to let you off that easy!' she said, wagging a finger in his direction, 'That was irresponsible of you.'

'Excuse me?' Ron said, 'Irresponsible? What exactly is irresponsible about two wizards that are of age to want to practice some magic with their new wands?'

Ron's mother had obviously not anticipated her son's counter attack. The shock didn't last for long.

'If you say you expect to be back in an hour, you should actually do so,' she said, her voice slowly rising in volume, 'I've checked with Ollivander, he said you had left over half an hour ago!'

'So what if we did?' Ron said back, feeling his face flush with anger. Harry and George, both busy in the henhouse, had stopped picking up eggs and were obviously eavesdropping, 'We are grown-ups now, mother. If we decide to go out and spend the whole day shopping, we will bloody well do so!'

'I think it's safe to say you two were most definitely not shopping!' His mother said, now entirely red-faced and one decibel away from shouting. Her eyebrows were furrowed, and Ron knew enough about his mother to know this discussion would explode if he pushed her further. Not saying anything but seething with anger, he made his way inside.


	2. Chapter 2

Dinner was… awkward. Ron was still angry at his mother. He couldn't understand why she made such a big deal about them arriving a few minutes later. Hermione, Harry, and he had been left to their own devices for a good part of a year, so why was his mother suddenly having a fit about it now? He supposed she might worry about them being attacked by run-away Death Eaters, but he thought that unlikely. Voldemort was gone, and this time, everyone knew it was for good. Known Death Eaters had largely been rounded up (ironically enough with methods quite like the snatchers used to round up muggle-born wizards), and those in hiding would gain nothing by attacking them. Ron was quite sure they were safe.

His mother hadn't said a word all afternoon, except for minimal directions to keep everyone on their chores (Clean shed! Wipe table! Fold laundry!), and had been furiously chopping vegetables and potatoes when preparing dinner. Ron had not sighted Hermione until dinner was announced. She had been kept busy upstairs with Ginny, first cleaning Ginny's room, then moving on to clean the bathroom.

When they finally came down, he saw that Hermione was looking fatigued. Her hair was in complete disarray, and her cheeks were red from exertion. His mother rounded on her immediately.

'Hermione, dear, ' she said, a warm smile on her face, 'Why don't you come and sit down over here?' His mother indicated a seat on the other side of the table from Ron, next to Bill and their father's usual seat. George and Bill both looked at their mother with raised eyebrows. Knowing Hermione would not soon go against his mother's wishes, she meekly did as she was told, glancing at Ron as she sat down with a resigned look in her eyes. Ron, meanwhile, felt his anger rise again, but did not say anything. He simply got up and walked around the table, sitting down in his father's seat. George, who had just gotten down from his room took in the situation and a sly smile of anticipation spread on his face.

'Ronald,' his mother said in a restrained voice, 'You know that is your father's seat. Please sit down in your own seat.'

'Mother,' Ron said, his temper barely under control, 'If Hermione isn't seated in _her_ usual place between me and Ginny, why should _I_ take my own seat?'

Just as his mother was about to reply, the fireplace roared in green flames. His father stepped out gingerly, brushing off soot carefully to keep it from getting onto the food. He surveyed the situation. It was clear that he realized something was wrong. His eyes darted across the room, and the fact that Ron was seated in his usual chair did not evade him. There was a moment of silence before he spoke.

'Dinner looks lovely, Molly,' he said, walking up to Ron's usual seat and sitting down there. 'Did you finally clean your room, Ginny?' he asked, as he reached for the potatoes. 'Pass the gravy bowl please, Harry.'

This diffused what could have become an ugly situation, but did little to help relieve the awkwardness between the family members. Ron and his mother, now seated next to each other, chose to adamantly ignore each other. Bill sat eating in silence, his eyes darting from one family member to the next. Harry and Ginny seemed to be trying to make themselves unnoticed. Ginny had not spoken more than three words all through dinner. George was clearly enjoying himself. He was joking under his breath. Harry, who say nearest to him, had been stifling his laughter desperately. His father was making small talk, but it became more and more forced as time progressed. Ron had just filled his plate with a second helping when his father broke the silence once again.

'So Ron,' his father said, 'You and Hermione went to visit mister Ollivander today, no?'

'Yes,' Ron said, feeling his mother tense next to him, 'He insisted that we would be the first people to get a wand from him after the battle.' His father seemed genuinely interested, so Ron continued, 'His store was rather beat up. Death Eaters had tried to torch the place in his absence. Half the boxes were charred or singed, and the other half was soggy.'

His father nodded. 'Oh well,' he said soberly, 'At least he still has his inventory. Wands don't come cheap, and he has quite a few of them. Thieves and vandals are always on the lookout for weaknesses in a wand shop. Did you both find a suitable wand?'

'Yes,' Hermione said. She had been quiet and inconspicuous all through dinner, not speaking unless directly addressed. Ron had taken her hand in his, and though that made eating with only a fork in his wrong hand a rather difficult affair, it was completely worth it; his mother had hissed in repressed fury. 'Mister Ollivander first tried to find a wand for Ron, but after about half an hour, he decided to find one for me too.'

'He tried to find a wand for both of you at the same time?' his father asked, 'Doesn't that make it needlessly more complex?'

'He went to a shelve in the back, and got a lot of boxes, each containing two wands,' Hermione said, 'He said they were wands made of the same materials.'

This seemed to cause a bit of a stir. Bill turned in his seat, his eyes wide. His father's mouth opened once, twice, without producing a sound.

'He tried to fix you with bonded wands?' his mother said, apparently all animosity forgotten.

'I'm not sure if he actually called them that,' Ron said, 'But he did mention something about them sharing the same materials and them having a connection.'

'And did Ollivander find you a pair of bonded wands that suited?' she asked, in a tone that did little to betray her doubt of it.

'Yes, he did,' Ron said, as he took out his new wand. Hermione followed suit. They put them together on the table, between the salad and a plate of sausages. 'Spruce wood with Veela hair core. Mine is just short of fourteen inches, and hers is just over ten and a half.'

'He sold you a pair of bonded wands?' his father said, 'You two?'

'Yes,' Ron said, not really understanding what the fuss was about. His father glanced to his mother, exchanging a wild look not so much of concern as of uncertainty. Bill, who seemed to sense his brother's confusion, leaned in to examine the wands.

'A bonded wand is different from a regular one,' he said, 'In that the owners have to share a deep connection as well. Harry's wand had a connection to Voldemort's wand, because of the tail feather core. They were not actually bonded wands, because the wood was different, but even then, their magic was– unexpected . From what I've heard about what happened at the graveyard a couple years back, some very strange things happened when the wands were forced to duel.'

'The same thing happens with bonded wands. They are both parts of a whole. If I were to snap this one in half,' he said fingering Ron's wand (Ron had to suppress the urge to snatch it from him), 'the other would also start to malfunction. Bonded wands are not unique or rare, you can get them at any wand shop. What is rare is that you two have them at such a young age. If I recall correctly, these wands are mostly bought by wizards that have spent a large part of their lives together.'

'True,' his father said, 'Bonded wands are almost exclusively sold to witches and wizards that have been in a relationship for decades. I think Molly and I would be able to use them, but I doubt even Bill and Fleur could.'

'And even then,' his mother said, now in a strangely different voice, 'You might not even wish to have them. From what I've heard, using a bonded wand is like having a connection open between yourself and the other. Muriel once told me she knew a couple that had bonded wands. Turned out they developed certainabilities. I believe he could sense where his wife was regardless of their proximity, and she could feel if her husband was hungry. It's not uncommon.'

_Bloody hell!_ Ron thought, _Hermione will be going mental if she can feel every time I'm hungry._ His reservation must have shown on his face, because George muttered 'Let's pray she won't have to share all of his _appetites_ with him.' Harry snorted with laughter. George got an earful from his mother before she turned on them.

'Just remember, Hermione, Ron,' she said, 'You can always exchange the wands with mister Ollivander. I'm sure he won't mind.'

It took Ron a moment to process his mother's comment. Sure, Ollivander would not mind if they exchanged the wands back to regular, un-bonded wands. Those were cheaper anyways, so he would not mind at all. But something about the casual dismissal of his wand rubbed him the wrong way. Was his mother afraid they could not handle a pair of bonded wands? Did his mother not expect them to last?

Before he could reply, Hermione took her own wand and made a complicated gesture. The lights in the house all went out, even that of the fireplace. At the same time, two golden stars appeared above the dinner table, rotating around each other lazily. The remaining sausages zoomed through the air, even the one George had been meaning to take a bit out of (Hey, I was eating that!). Soon, potatoes and gravy were joining a complicated dance in the air. Ron had also taken out his wand. He felt a fierce determination quite unlike what he had ever felt before. The feeling was rather alien to him. None the less, he added the plates to the mix, and soon, all of the items on the table were zooming this way and that, never touching one another but moving at great speed. The twin stars had fused into one larger star.

With a splat, all of the food and dishes fell back onto the table. Cold gravy sloshed in Harry and George's faces, and Ron couldn't help but feel a strange satisfaction in that. The lights turned back on.

'We're very happy with our wands,' Hermione said, 'And I'm sure if anything unexpected happens, we'll be able to manage it.'

* * *

Dinner was over after their magic, and the subject of their wands was not discussed afterwards. Most of the house was now cleaned and in proper order, so Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny retreated upstairs to Ron's room. Ron was playing gobstones with Harry. Ginny was on Ron's bed, in a pose that was halfway between laying down and sitting. She was watching Harry, Ron thought irritably, though he kept his mouth shut. Hermione was seated on the windowsill, the window completely open to let in the cool evening air. She was toying with her wand. Ron enjoyed watching her. Her feet were propped up, and her knees almost reached her chin. What little wind was present gently toyed with her hair. She was chewing her lip, her eyes focussed on somewhere far off.

'So Hermione,' Ginny asked when Harry made a bad move and Ron was able to take two of his pieces, 'What does your new wand feel like?'

Hermione seemed to startle out of her revelry. She blinked, and the far-away look her eyes had made way for her usual, critical observing gaze. She seemed hesitant.

'I – I'm not sure. It's great, mind you. It already feels just as comfortable and dependant as my old wand did. It's just – I am not used to it yet. I feel like there is something different about this wand. Something I can't put my _thoughts_ around yet.'

The way she had said 'thoughts' caught his attention. She had looked straight at him, and Ron couldn't shake the feeling that Hermione was trying to subtly tell him something without letting Ginny and Harry notice. If so, it had worked.

'What do you mean, it feels differently?' Harry asked, his attention now shifting as Ron was clearly going to win after Harry's botched move, 'Different in what way?'

Hermione didn't immediately respond, but took a moment to formulate her reply. Ron had the distinct idea that she was carefully wording what she was going to say.

'The magic is the same,' she said slowly, 'but the emotions behind them aren't.'

'Isn't that normal?' Ginny asked Harry, 'For another wand to feel different?'

'Yes,' Harry said, 'Using Hermione's wand always felt a little wrong for me, and using the Elder wand gave me a feeling like anything was possible. My old wand still remains my favourite.'

'I guess we're just going to have to learn to live with the knowledge that our old wands aren't going to come back.'

* * *

Harry lost two more games of gobstones from Ron before he tired of the game. Ginny kept blowing him kisses whenever she thought Ron wasn't looking, a seductive smile playing on her lips. It wasn't long after that when Harry suddenly asked Ginny if he could see her collection of 'Quidditch Monthly'. When they left, Hermione turned to look at him.

'The git probably thinks I didn't see through that lie,' he said as he carefully packed the game up, 'I know he's only going down to her room for a snog.'

'Perhaps they didn't want to rub it in your face,' Hermione said as she untangled herself from the windowsill, 'They know you are not an idiot. Maybe they didn't want you to – overreact.'

'Overreact? Me?' he joked, knowing his many complaints about their open displays of affection had always fallen on deaf ears, 'Never!'

Ron got up from the floor after pushing the box of gobstones back under his bed. Hermione had sat down on the edge of his bed. She patted on the matrass next to herself. Ron sat down nervously. His heart was racing, and his throat was dry. He had kissed Hermione a couple of times now, but it still made him nervous to sit this close to her. He wanted to lean in and try to kiss her again when she asked 'Could you hold your wand out?'

Ron did as he was told. Hermione also took her wand in her hand. He wasn't quite sure what she wanted to do with them, but his curiosity was quickly replaced by the same feeling of nervousness he had felt before. It was Hermione's close proximity. The way he could smell her hair, and see each individual strand made him remember their kiss in the field this afternoon. The tip of her wand came to light. He did the same.

'Are you feeling nervous?' Hermione asked in a small voice.

'Yes.'

'Do you feel anything else?'

Ron wasn't sure what she meant until he felt it. Another emotion, faintly present in the back of his mind, and deep down in his gut. It was a feeling of lust. He was about to say so, when he realized it felt alien, like the determination he had felt at dinner.

'You feel it too?' she asked, 'Whenever I use my wand, I feel these emotions I can't place. During dinner, I felt a wave of anger over something your mother said. Much more anger than I felt I should have. But it felt – odd.'

'Alien.'

'Yes!' Hermione said, 'That was the word I was looking for. It felt alien.'

'I was angry at my mother for suggesting we would not last,' Ron admitted with a bit of shame.

'I hadn't thought of her words like that,' Hermione said, 'Perhaps I reacted subconsciously. Maybe the wands allow us to feel our own subconscious thoughts better.'

Ron shrugged. 'I'm pretty sure what I'm feeling right now is not subconscious.' Hermione looked up in his eyes and smiled shyly. He bent down and kissed her lips. He could feel her warm breath on his face, and he tasted the chocolate frog she had eaten a few minutes before. Ron settled back onto his bed, hoping Hermione would lie down next to him. She did, though she remained as far on the side of the bed as she could. Ron lay on the other side of the bed, and looked at her.

Hermione had a beautiful figure. She had grown a bit skinny over the course of last year, but it had only exaggerated one of the parts of her body he absolutely loved; her waist. She had a gorgeous natural wasp's waist, and he loved how it fanned out to her hips. She was currently wearing a simple pink cotton shirt that clung to her body. It hugged her form sweetly. She was also wearing a pair of faded jeans. He had seen her wearing them almost half the time they were on the road. Hermione had only packed two pairs of jeans at the time they had to depart number 12 Grimmauld Place.

'What are you thinking?' she asked, her head propped up on her arm. Her hair hung down to below her shoulder blades.

'You hair is long,' he said. He reached out and took a lock of it in his hand and fingered it, 'I like it.'

'It's only grown something like four inches,' she said, taking a handful and smelling it, 'I think it was longer in our fourth year.'

'I liked it then, too,' he said, knowing she would feel flattered. Hermione scooted a little closer.

'Your hair is longer too,' she said, 'but you should really ask your mum to cut it.'

'You don't like it long?' he asked, with mock indignation.

'I like it,' she said, 'but I like it better short. It suits you better.' Ron closed the distance between them further. He was starting to like this little game.

'Anything else I should change?' he asked, his free hand playing with a fold in the matrass. Hermione gave him a look over, and he saw a blush creep up on her cheeks.

'Well,' she drawled, 'Now that you asked me on the spot, perhaps we could go shopping together in a few days. I want you to have some clothes that actually fit.'

Ron felt his own cheeks redden now. Money was still a bit of a sore point, even though things had been easier for his parents now Bill, Charley, and Percy had all moved out. He had not grown much in the past year, so he hoped that his clothes would actually still fit a year from now. He was currently wearing a pair of pants from Christmas last year, and they were at least three inches short.

'We'll go shopping in a muggle shopping centre,' Hermione said, 'Nothing posh, and I insist on buying you at least two pairs of pants. And a shirt. And maybe some socks.'

'Can I keep my trunks?' he asked, 'Or do you want to get me a set of those too?'

'Having washed them for half a year, I'm pretty sure those will need to be replaced soon, yes.'

Ron closed the distance again, but only fractionally. Hermione seemed amused.

'What about you?' she asked, 'I'm sure you can find a point or two that could be improved.'

Ron let his eyes scan her once again. He greedily took in her form, wallowing in pride of being allowed to do so. 'I'll buy you a new bag,' he said, 'Because that is the only thing I can see that really needs improvement.'

Hermione scooted towards him. It wasn't a tiny move in his direction, or even a liberal move. Instead, she closed the distance completely, pressing herself against him tightly and kissing his lips. Ron was taken by surprise, but recovered quickly, dropping his arm around her waist and pulling her in tightly. They kissed for what felt like ages before they broke apart. Hermione was breathing heavily, and could feel the blood pounding in his veins.

'What did I earn that for?' he asked, as he looked into her eyes. Hermione stared back, a content smile on her face.

'Oh, you know how girls love bags,' she said, placing a kiss on his cheek. It was followed by another kiss, closer to his mouth, which was followed by yet another kiss, which was somewhere between his lips and his cheek. Ron pulled her close again, kissing her fervently.

Kissing Hermione had a profound effect on his pants. Feeling her soft lips, smelling her perfume, and having his hand grasp her closely to him was giving him a raging boner. It fought for space in his pants, and he shifted his pelvis a little to allow it. Hermione seemed to have noticed, because she broke the kiss off and looked down to his pants.

'It's really struggling to break free, isn't it?' she said, a bashful smile on her lips.

'It does this every time you kiss me,' he replied in what he hoped at least _sounded_ nonchalantly, 'If you want – I mean, if you feel like it, you can – you, you know – free it.'

Hermione looked up at Ron, but her smile had dropped. 'I'm not sure if I'm ready for that, Ron.'

He felt a little bit disappointed. Not in her, for not being ready yet. He had hardly believed she would accept. But for the slightest moment, he had hoped she might. His disappointment must have shown, because apologised, and started to explain why she felt she wasn't ready. He silenced her with a kiss.

'We'll leave it in its cage for now,' he said, after he had managed to pull his lips away from hers again, 'I don't want you to feel pressured. We have all the time in the world.'

'We do, don't we?' she said, clearly relieved. She shifted to her back, nuzzling her head to his chest. 'I still can't believe that it is over.'

'Neither can I, love', Ron said, without thinking. He thought his little affection at the end sounded nice, and after feeling Hermione tense for a moment, he was rewarded with a quick peck on his neck, followed by a long hug. Ron felt content. Drowsy from a big meal, the warm summer air, and Hermione's lovely body pressed against his, he slowly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Ron awoke around ten 'o clock. He was still very tired, and would have just fallen back asleep if Harry hadn't been shaking his shoulder.

'Ron!' he said, panic in his voice, 'Oi! Ron! Wake up!'

'What's wrong?' Ron reached for his wand, but something in Harry's voice told him it wasn't Death Eaters that were stomping up the stairs.

'She's almost here!' Harry said, 'Do you want her to find you two like this?'

Ron looked at Hermione. She was waking up too, and he had seldom seen such a wonderful sight. They had never slept like this before, against each other. It had not been a sexual thing, nor even something romantic. Ron and Hermione, tired from their ordeals and all the worries they had gone through all year long, had simply rested in the comfort of each other's embrace. Eyes closed, he had felt himself relax in what felt like the first time in months. Hermione had been snuggled closely against his chest, and the imprint of his sweater was visible on her cheek. She looked around in a daze.

The door flew open, and Ron wondered if his mother had decided to kick it in. He was slightly disappointed that it had not been blown off its hinges. Molly Weasley stood in the doorway, glaring at the two culprits on the bed. Harry had backed away, and seemed to be trying to make himself invisible.

'You!' she said, pointing at Hermione, 'Ginny's room. Now.'

Hermione was still a little dazed, but obediently followed orders.

'You!' she said, pointing at Harry, 'The kitchen. We will talk after I'm done here.'

Harry's reaction was, in retrospect, quite hilarious. Unused to strict parenting (the Dursleys didn't actually parent Harry in so much as kept him as a pet), Harry's eyes widened, and he scrambled away hastily.

His mother closed the door, and sat down on his bed. She was looking at him in a way that seemed to convey a sense of "I'm not angry, just very disappointed". Ron was unused to it, but had learned long ago not to break eye contact first. He broke it none the less, unable to keep his eyes on her anymore.

'You were always such a sweet boy,' his mother said with more than a hint of nostalgia in her voice, 'Always so friendly and helping out.'

Ron's brow furrowed. _Where was she taking this?_ She kept looking at him though, and Ron was unsure what would come next.

'I will not have you sleeping with her in our house,' she said, sternly but without anger, 'Not in this bed, nor any other place.'

'Why?'

'Because I can't make that decision for her parents, dear.'

'For her – What?'

'Hermione's parents are still in Australia, and they don't know about you two. I'm pretty sure they will agree that you make a lovely couple, because you do, but I can't make that decision for them. I won't have you two rolling around each other every other second while her parents are still out there.'

'But mom,' Ron said, 'They know us. They know me. You know how desperately Hermione wants to go out and find them. She only agreed to stay here because she knows she needs to build up on reserves. She would have flown to Australia days ago if she wasn't still weakened from everything.'

It had been true. Hermione had told him in private that she would have left the day Voldemort had been defeated if she had not passed out around noon. She had never been big, and the year on the road had taken its toll on her body. Whatever fat and muscle she had started out with was long gone. Ron had felt a bit ashamed when she told madam Pomfrey she had also been taking smaller portions than the two of them to keep their strength up. Her pants were wide, and her shirts were baggy.

'I know, Ron,' his mother said, 'I'm pretty sure they would have no objections against the two of you, and I know Hermione would rather be in Australia right now. But that doesn't change the fact that you will both have to keep from what clearly just happened.'

'But mom, you have to believe me,' Ron said in a weak voice filled with embarrassment, 'Nothing actually happened. We kissed, and then we fell asleep on the bed. We didn't –'

Thankfully, his mother saved him from having to finish that sentence. She told him she believed every word he had said, and that she was very happy for the both of them.

'But as long as Hermione's parents are not back, as long as they remember neither you nor their own daughter, I want you to promise me _that_ won't happen.'

Ron hated his mother for putting him in this position. He understood why she wanted him to promise her this, but knew it would be nearly impossible for them to keep. Hermione might not be ready for certain things now, but who knew how long that would last. Perhaps in a few months or even a few weeks, she would be more open to the physical aspect of their relationship.

'I can't promise you it won't happen,' he said, 'Because I can't speak for Hermione in this. But I promise we will try.'

His mother sighed, 'I guess I can't expect more from you. I'm very proud of you, son.'

Ron awoke for the second time that night. Harry was asleep in the camping bed his parents had always set out for him when he visited. He had returned from the kitchen with murder in his eyes, and had glumly crawled into bed. He was obviously unused to facing a stern mother. He had not said a word. When Ron had gone downstairs to brush his teeth, Hermione (who he met leaving the bathroom after doing just that) had told him his mother had walked in on a heated snog between Ginny and Harry. He quickly informed her of the promise he had made to his mother. When he was done explaining it, she gave him a soft kiss on his cheek.

'That was very sweet of you, Ron,' she said, 'Let's see how long we last.'

And with that, she left.


	3. Chapter 3

Ron had made his promise two days ago, and so far, things had gone smoothly. Hermione and he had found a bit more time to be together, and in those small hours, they mostly kissed and talked about small things. His mother was no longer hovering over them, so he could finally enjoy being together with his perfect girlfriend. He noticed that little had changed between them. He had half expected, no: _dreaded_, that they would somehow act differently around each other. He had seen it before around others. Dean had acted differently when he was with Ginny. She had hated that, and it had driven them apart. Lavender had been just a regular girl in his school, talking to him normally until he had kissed her. Then, she had suddenly developed an infuriating squeaky voice when addressing him. Hermione had not changed. She still rode him hard whenever she felt he was wrong about something. She still talked to him with her regular voice, and about things they always talked about.

That, however, was a bit of a problem. They had been focussed so intently on Voldemort and the Horcruxes the past year that they had hardly talked about anything else. Sure, they had discussed about little things like quidditch and school, but for the most part, their conversations had mostly been about the war. Ron found himself searching for subjects to talk about whenever he was with her, and though conversation was never strained, and moments of silence had never been awkward, he really wanted to broaden the range of subjects.

Hermione and he were laying in the grass arms spread out, the sun blanketing them with its warm rays. Twice now, had Ron tried to talk about Australia, and Hermione's parents, but the words wouldn't come out. He was afraid that she would start crying. He wanted to show her he was interested and invested in what would certainly be a long and difficult search. Hermione had told him she had not been able to plant a more specific destination in their minds. Australia was enormous considering they didn't even know what city to look for.

'Hermione,' he said, steeling his resolve, 'I – err – I wanted to talk to you about something.'

'About what?'

'Our plans for Australia.'

Hermione stiffened. He could hear her breath catch. She didn't reply immediately, but seemed to be thinking. Ron hoped she would not cry. He would help her find their parents. He had already visited the town in order to find some books about Australia. He had also asked around at the library. Hermione turned to him.

'What would you like to talk about?' she asked.

'I think we should start planning,' he said, 'If you're ready of course.'

He had spent quite some time thinking about the trip already. There were a number of ways they could go about travelling there, and he had also been thinking about how to look up her parents.

'I'm ready, Ron,' she said, 'I would have left yesterday if I wasn't still so weakened.'

'Good,' Ron said, seeing Hermione smile in reaction, 'Travelling intercontinentally is a bit of a bother actually, but we have a few options.'

'Firstly, we can always use a number of portkeys. I think I remember my dad telling me the ministry did this for the quidditch world cup a couple of years back. Their range is limited though, so you would have to get into contact with about four or five other countries to arrange it. If all the other countries are as disorganised as ours is at the moment, then you can expect a permit sometime around next Christmas. Also, portkeys are nauseating, and just the thought of having to do that five times for the maximum range is already making me taste my breakfast again.'

'Then there's apparation,' he said, ticking his fingers as he enumerated, 'Which I am not licenced for. I believe the ministry could grant me a permit in a one or two weeks, provided I pass the test, but apparation has an even more limited range than portkeys.'

'Yes, I've read about that in the apparation folder when we were at Hogwarts, but it didn't explain it. Why is that?' Hermione asked.

'My mum explained it once,' he said, 'I think she said that the time to travel increases exponentially with distance, or something. Not sure what it means though.'

Hermione nodded. 'I understand. Think of it like this: You take out a chessboard and put a grain of wheat on the first square. On the next square, you put double that amount, so it holds two grains of wheat. You repeat that for each square, so the third holds?'

'Four grains,' Ron answered, 'And the next holds eight. Snape told us something like this during potions.'

'Right!' Hermione said, a tone of pride in her voice, 'So you _were_ paying attention after all.'

'If you keep doing this,' she continued, ignoring his pointed look, 'How many grains of wheat do you need for the last square?'

'I dunno,' Ron said. 'Couple thousand I guess.'

'That is square eleven.'

'A million?'

'That should be around square twenty,' Hermione replied.

'I don't know,' Ron said, knowing it would probably be something huge, 'Tell me.'

'More grains of wheat than you could fit in England if you would blanket the entire country in layer over thirty foot high.'

'Okay,' Ron said, imagining him sitting on top of that with Hermione, 'That's a lot.'

She smiled. Ron was glad she did, because the next items on the list were a lot less attractive.

'So apparation is out,' he said, 'Unless you want to apparate to fifty or sixty places we've never been before, including the middle of an ocean.'

'A third option would be taking a transportal,' he said, 'which actually is a very good idea, if it was a bit more dependable. They tend to break down though, and I've called the ministry this morning to ask about theirs; and its broken.'

'What's a transportal?' Hermione asked. Ron kept forgetting that she, like Harry, was born in the muggle world. She had learned a lot from reading books, but some things you just can't find out about in books.

'There's one in the Department of Mystification,' Ron said, 'Though we never visited that room. It is a horizontal stone circle that can be rotated. If you point it in the direction of another one, and that one is pointed in your direction, than you can jump into one, and emerge from the other.'

'The tricky bit is getting them both to align perfectly. If you are half a degree off, it just won't work. We had one pointed west towards the United States for quite some time, but when Voldemort murdered the minister, one of the unspeakables pushed it off in a different direction. There's only a handful of people all over the world that can fix it.'

'Okay,' Hermione said, 'What are our other options?'

'We could fly,' he said, 'Though that would take ages. I'm sure we could arrange for a small carriage pulled by two palegrino's or thestrals. They would have to graze and sleep though, so don't expect to be there before the end of the month. And then there is one last option, short of walking the distance.'

'An airplane,' Hermione said, stating it as a fact.

'Yup. We could buy a ticket via the ministry. Department of Magical Transportation.'

'How long would the trip be?'

'Taking a stopover in account at a place called Kuala Lumpur, we would probably be busy for twenty-four hours. We could fly to Darwin, and start searching there.'

'Looks like that is our only real option,' Hermione said, 'Considering every other option is either unpleasant or unavailable.'

'Yeah, I figured you'd go for the airplane. I've already made a reservation for us for next week. Kingsley is checking to see if he can get the ministry to pay for the tickets.'

'You already arranged it?' Hermione said in delight, 'That is so thoughtful of you, Ron.'

She reached out and grabbed his hand, giving it a bit of a squeeze. He returned it eagerly. Ron had found out quite recently that Hermione liked to do this. Sometimes, in conversations with others, she would take his hand and squeeze it, even if she was looking at somebody else. It was her way of letting him know she agreed with him, or to get him to pay attention to something important. He loved it; loved every sort of physical contact between them.

'I've also been thinking about how to find them. I figured you gave them names that would be unique?'

'Yes,' Hermione said, 'I looked up the names of dentists living in Australia. They should be the only Wilkins's there.'

'I was thinking we might be able to check the city hall of each city and ask around there. I'm sure they have some listing of people living in their city. It will take a while to visit all of those cities though. I've gotten some books about Australia from the library in Ottery St. Catchpole. There's like a thousand cities there.'

Hermione turned to face him. 'There is a faster way. If I know my father a little bit, I'm sure we can look him up there. We will have to visit the library again though.'

'You want to go there now?'

'No,' she said, slipping closer to him until she was practically laying on top of him, 'Right now, I want you to tell me what miracle happened to get you into a library on your own…'

She kissed his cheek, and a warm glow flushed over it. Another kiss was placed next to the previous, and another after that. She kissed his neck, obviously enjoying his reaction to it. Taking his earlobe into her mouth, she sucked on it while smelling his hair. Her foot had hooked around his leg and she pushed herself close to him. 'Your hair smells nice,' she murmured.

Ron turned his head to hers and kissed her lips. They were soft and inviting. His tongue poked out quickly, wanting more. She eagerly accepted, opening her mouth enough to allow him to enter it with his tongue. It was lovely, Ron thought, as they lay there, in the blissful afternoon sun, kissing like two regular people. Gone was the gravity of their mission. Gone was the awkwardness of their insecurity. Gone was the doubt about each other's feelings. They were there, in the dry grass; together, warm, happy, and recovering.

Their kiss was dynamic. At first gentle and unsure, it soon turned into a more heated snog, until that made way again for a casual sort of French kissing Ron could imagine him doing all day long. Hermione's hands were in his neck and on his back. Every once in a while, she would make a sound somewhere between a moan and a grunt, and Ron would feel mightily impressed with himself. He turned to her fuller, deepening the kiss again, until he was on top of her. His arms on either side of her, she seemed not in the slightest bit uncomfortable with a large part of his weight on her. Quite the contrary; she was kissing him more furiously than ever, and he felt her arms roving over his back.

* * *

Twenty highly eventful minutes later, they got up from where they had been kissing to head for the village. It would take them about fifteen minutes to walk to the edge of the little village, and five more to reach the library. They walked at a leisurely pace, content with stretching out this wonderful day as long as they could. Ron took out his wand for a bit of practice. He pointed it to a poppy, and cast the Gemini charm. Seven more appeared around it. He picked them, using his wand to remove some of the leaves. When he was content with them, he presented them to Hermione.

'Oh Ron,' she said, 'These are lovely. Thank you!'

Hermione also took out her wand. She rummaged through a couple of pebbles, then selected one that seemingly felt right to her. It was a flat, round stone that fit nicely into her hand. She directed her wand, and wordlessly cast a spell Ron couldn't remember having learned about at Hogwarts. He felt another set of emotions as she did, and it felt alien like the last time they had been using their wands.

'Hermione,' he asked, 'How are you feeling?'

'Happy,' she said.

'Any other feelings?'

She looked at him shyly, 'Well, I feel a little excited about going to the library with you. And about finding my parents. Hopeful too.'

'Is that all you're feeling?' he asked, his suspicions mostly affirmed, 'Or are you feeling something else too?'

Hermione looked away and he saw her fidgeting with her nails. It was a nervous habit of hers he had never noticed before now. She didn't seem to answer, and Ron thought she might not want to, when she suddenly said in the smallest of voices: 'I'm feeling a bit– excited too. From kissing. A little riled up still, I guess'

'I thought you might,' he said, 'and maybe just a little bit frustrated that it had just been kissing, and nothing more?'

Hermione stopped walking and looked at him with enormous eyes. The colour drained from her face, the pebble and her wand forgotten. She recovered a little, but seemingly realized just then what he had said. The colour quickly returned to her face in full force.

'I – I – How did you know?'

'I don't think our wands make us feel our own, subconscious emotions,' Ron said, 'I think it makes us feel each other's emotions.'

'You mean you felt my – my – you know?'

Ron smiled sheepishly. Yes, he had experienced all of the emotions she had told him she had felt as she charmed the pebble. Happiness from being given flowers, joy with the weather, the hope of finding her parents well and happy in Australia, and excitation with what he now knew she thought of as a date. Those were emotions he could clearly make out. They had felt logical, well-defined and clear. But there had been another emotion. Her excitation and frustration after their kissing was different from the others. Not clearly defined or logical, this was a more primal, cardinal thing that burned not in her mind, but in her heart.

'Did you feel it with me?' he asked, hoping it would make her feel less awkward, 'When I made the copies of the flower?'

'I felt _something_,' she said, 'but those alien feelings are so different from what I normally feel. I think I felt your anticipation. I think you were hoping I'd like the flowers.'

'Go on,' he said, as they resumed walking.

'You are also feeling a bit protective. You want to take care of me.'

Now it was Ron's turn to feel ashamed. Having someone tell you what you are feeling was rather indecent.

'There was something else,' Hermione said, 'But I can't put my finger on it. I think it might be something like pride.'

Ron's ears were prickling. He was sure his face had flushed beet-red. Ron had indeed felt proud. Proud of his girlfriend. Proud of still being able to explain things to Hermione, even though she was so much smarter than him. Proud of being able to make her produce those half-moan-half-grunt noises. He was about to make a non-committal sound in an attempt to hide that fact from her, when they heard a car door slam a little while ahead. They were approaching the edge of the town.

Hermione pressed the stone into his hands. It was just a simple round stone, but she had neatly carved a G on one side, and an R on the other. He loved it. Putting it in his pants pocket, Ron pulled her close and kissed her.

'I'll carry it with me wherever I go,' he said, 'I love you.'

'I love you too, Ron,' Hermione said. They had said these words before; in the Great Hall, right after Voldemort had been defeated, back at the Burrow, whenever they had to part to go to sleep, and in moments like these. It still sounded marvellous to hear her say it.

* * *

Hermione had never visited the little library of Ottery St. Catchpole before, and though the building was not much to look at, and the books were not quite as qualitative as one might hope for, it was still a library. Ron wandered about a little before heading off to the travel section. Hermione stopped him, and walked to a counter instead. A plump muggle sat behind a computer there.

'Hello, madam,' Hermione said courteously, 'Do you have an internet connection here?'

'Why yes, dear,' the woman said, 'We were recently hooked up. It's a DSL modem, and it costs three pounds to use for every hour.'

'We would like to use it for an hour, I think,' she said, taking some muggle money from her purse. The lady at the counter returned her some other coins, then gave her a bit of paper holding a password.

'If you need any help, let me know,' she said.

'We're looking for a dental practice in Australia,' she said, 'Do you know how we might find it?'

'Try searching on Yahoo. They usually turn up some good results. You can also use a newer search engine called Google.'

Ron couldn't make heads or tails from their little exchange, both the money and the discussion about searching. He wisely kept his mouth shut, knowing Hermione would probably explain it a little to him. Ron knew next to nothing about muggles and their inventions, and an explanation frequently led him to splitting migraines.

Hermione had set off, and Ron followed suit. She sat down on a chair in front of a computer, that much was clear to Ron. She pressed a bunch of buttons, and the machine sprang to life. After some more clicking and button-pressing, Hermione turned to face him.

'Muggles can't summon water,' she said in less than a whisper, 'You know that, right?'

'Yes?' Ron said, unsure what that had to do with anything.

'So they have these pipes running under the ground to every house, supplying them of drinkable water. Those pipes come from distribution stations which forms a network of pipes all across the country, yes?'

'Yes.'

'This computer is connected to a wire that also runs underground. It is connected to a distribution station, which is connected to other distribution stations. It's a network of wires. But these wires don't stop at the border. These wires are connected all over the world.'

'The muggles have put cables into the ground all over the world?'

'Yes,' Hermione said, 'And if I send a message out with this computer, I can get a response from a computer across the globe. They call it the internet. In the past, it was only used by the military and universities and such, but for a while now, ordinary muggles have started using it.'

'So what sort of messages can you send?'

'I'll show you.' She started typing something in a narrow bar at the top of the screen. 'I'm using the computer to look up a page that I can use to search the internet with. Here,' she said, pressing a button and causing the machine to do something. A timeturner was displayed, and in a corner, Ron saw a globe spinning. The back of the globe held the letter E. A few seconds later, letters started appearing on screen.

'Yahoo?'

'It's the name of the search engine,' she said, 'Let's just search for "dentist Wilkins Australia"'. She typed it in. The machine returned a list of results, and Hermione quickly glanced over them.

Their hour was nearly over. Ron had been asking questions at first, but seeing as how they had not found anything yet, he had stopped asking them, knowing it would cut their precious time even shorter if she had to keep answering them. Hermione seemed a bit deflated. She had switched over from using Yahoo to Google, but had not found anything yet. Suddenly, she jerked up. Ron, who had participated in the search, but had quickly realized that he was woefully unequipped to browse the internet, peered intently on the screen.

Hermione had found a website called "www dot dentalclinichermione dot com", and was staring at it intently.

'How did you find this?' he asked, as he skimmed the page. It was a practice in a town called Brisbane. If his memory served him well, he thought it was on the east coast of Australia. The page had a black background, with white letters. It described the location of a dental clinic in a residential area on the outskirts of the town. There was only one picture on the website, and it showed the entrance of the clinic, which had a white front with a glass sliding door. Sadly, there were no pictures of employees. Hermione checked the contact page, but did not find a reference to the dentist's name.

She wrote down the address of the clinic, and its telephone number. Then, she rolled her chair back a little.

'I think this is it,' she said softly, obviously shaken. Her eyes were fixed unflinchingly at the screen of the browser. She was nervously fingering the piece of paper that held the information about the clinic, and Ron could see her hands tremble slightly.

'It would be a bit of a coincidence for another dental clinic to be opened in Australia with your name on it,' he reasoned. 'Look here,' he said, as he pointed at the screen, 'It says the clinic opened late last year.'

'Oh Ron,' Hermione said, and with that, she crashed into his arms. She was crying, but no sound escaped. Her breathing was uneven, and her body shook with silent sobs. Ron could only imagine Hermione's relief. She had gone through a year of war and uncertainty, and now held a first bit of proof that her parents might just be okay. It must have felt like a heavy weight had dropped from her shoulders.

She sat like that for just a minute, then composed herself. Quickly turning away from him, she furiously wiped her cheeks and nose. Ron wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close.

'I think we found them, 'Mione,' he whispered into her ear, 'I think they're safe!'

* * *

The trip back to the Burrow had been an elated one. Hermione's grin looked like it was permanently engraved on her face, and she had not just held his hand (as was her custom), but had pulled him into a tight embrace. The sun still stood high in the sky, and she was clearly enjoying its heat. Twice had she stopped to pull his face down to hers, and kiss him fiercely. One of those times had been in the middle of the street, and they had received a wolf whistle from a group of men enjoying a beer on the terrace of a pub. Ron had felt ashamed, but Hermione would not let him go, and after a while, he had stopped caring what people might think.

Ron could feel them enter the circumference of the protective wards and enchantments that were placed on the Burrow. He took out his wand, and added another one, which he just realized they had used every day the past year, but which his parent's had not used. It settled over the rest of the enchantments firmly.

'That was a powerful spell,' Hermione said, 'I could feel it's effects as it fit into place. You've grown so much this past year.'

'Surely you could outdo me,' he said, 'The cleverest witch of your age?'

'He said that a long time ago, Ron,' Hermione said as she pulled out her wand, 'A long time ago.'

'Still true,' Ron said, as Hermione made a couple of complicated wand movements. Her spell was powerful too, so much so that he assumed that the other inhabitants of the Burrow must have felt it. It was a protective charm that, from what he could deduce, something against muggles. An overwhelming feeling of euphoria washed over him.

'I can't explain how glad I am that you are feeling so happy,' Ron said, after realizing he had felt her emotions again when she had performed her spell, 'I don't know if I've ever felt something that strong before.'

Hermione pecked him on the cheek. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to do so.

'You say the most beautiful things sometimes, Ronald.'

And with that, she ran inside, off to tell Harry her good news.


	4. Chapter 4

The afternoon's elation was somewhat diminished by the reaction of Ron's parents. Though they were very impressed that Hermione had found a dental clinic in Australia with her name (his dad was highly intrigued about this web-thing they had browsed), and agreed that the chance that this clinic was actually her parents's was quite large, but they warned her not to get her hopes up too high.

'Hermione is a character in a poem by Shakespeare,' his mother said after dinner, 'It's not a wizarding name, and you certainly aren't the only person named after it.'

'But mom,' Ron replied, 'There can't be more than a handful of people who've actually used that name, and for it to be on a dental clinic in Australia… Think of the odds!'

'It would be an enormous coincidence, I agree,' his father said from his comfortable chair by the fire, 'But you must not rule out that possibility. You would be surprised how often these sorts of coincidences happen. One of my favourite authors, Terry Pratchett, said: "Million-to-one chances crop up nine times out of ten".'

'Can you honestly say that you believe–'

'Your father is right, Ron,' Hermione interjected. She had been quiet for a while now, he realized. 'We can't rule out the possibility that the clinic is run by somebody other than my parents. Yet.'

'Yet?'

'It's just over eight 'o clock in the evening now,' Hermione said, peeking at her wristwatch, 'There is a nine hour time difference, which means that it is Thursday morning there now. It should be five in the morning. The office opens at nine.'

'Hermione,' Ron said, 'We can't make it to Australia in just four hours.'

'No,' Hermione said, 'But we can call them. You have a telephone here, right?'

* * *

Those four hours seemed to stretch endlessly, in that irritating way time had of stretching when you were waiting for something important to happen. Ron sensed a growing irritation and uncertainty in Hermione. They had retreated up to his room, and Hermione had been seated in the windowsill almost the entire time. Ron had tried to talk to her about it, and though she answered his questions and comments reasonably enough, he sensed her heart was not in it. He had invited her to a game of chess, which she promptly declined, and his invitation her for a snog on his bed had met a similar fate. Ron had taken place in his rickety office chair (it had groaned under his weight), and had sat down next to Hermione, his feet planted in the corner of the windowsill she occupied.

'How are you feeling?' he asked.

'I'm afraid,' she said in the smallest of voices, 'Afraid of calling. Afraid of finding out it isn't my parents's clinic.'

'Don't be,' he said, knowing it was a weak reply, 'Look at it logically. Suppose it is the clinic we're looking for. We would have to visit just a single city, and we'll probably be finished before the end of the week. If it isn't the clinic of your parents (Hermione's head dropped, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her shirt), well, we'll just have to do some detective work. It will take longer, yes, but we'll just have to enjoy ourselves. We'll treat it like a vacation.'

Hermione seemed marginally happier.

'Do you want to know how I feel?' she asked, 'Really know it?'

'Yes, of course!'

'Take out your wand then,' she said, as she took out hers. Ron picked up his new, long wand from his desk. His brow furrowed, they had never used the bond between the wands before like this. There had been moments when they had both been using their wands at the same time, but never explicitly to use the connection between them to share their emotions. It still felt odd, feeling Hermione's emotions, it was still alien. It wasn't a bad thing, just odd, and unusual. Hermione conjured a couple of her waterproof bluebell flames, flicking them into existence, and extinguishing them immediately afterwards.

Hermione had not been lying when she had said she was feeling afraid. The emotion was powerful and drowned out any of his own feelings immediately. There was also a gigantic feeling of dread. Hermione was obviously not looking forward to placing the call.

'Do you want me to do it?' he asked, hoping to alleviate her dreadfulness. The words had not left his mouth when he suddenly felt a sharp feeling of affection mingling with the alien emotions. Again, he was struck by the logicality of them. It was as if she had weighed his offer to call for her, then concluded that feeling affectionate would be most appropriate. He wasn't sure if this had actually happened, but if it had, it was an extraordinary insight into her inner workings.

'No, Ron,' she said, an alien feeling of mischief popping up, 'I should definitely do it myself. You'll probably just start shouting again.' A smile formed on her lips, the first since dinner. Ron raised an eyebrow in silent protest.

* * *

Even though time seemed to have stretched, it could not be stopped, and before either of them knew it, it was ten passed midnight. Hermione got up from the windowsill, seemingly a little unsure of herself. Ron got up from the bed, where he had spent the past half an hour levitating an increasing number of gobstones to test his new wand. The had been moving in circles, as if he was juggling them without needing his arms. He had managed to get twelve in the air before he they started drifting off-course or knocked into each other. Hermione walked over to him and gave him a hug. It was brief, and in silence, but it meant a lot to him. Hermione trusted him enough to have him experience her feelings, and sought him out when she was afraid. She had nuzzled her face against his chest, her bushy mane close enough for him to smell.

'Let's go,' she said.

The had agreed to call the office under the pretence of being an English tourist that wanted to have a root-canal treatment. They had concluded that a receptionist would most likely answer the phone. If so, she would ask for the names of the dentists at the clinic. If either of her parents would answer, she would just hang up the phone.

Most of the family was already downstairs, huddled in the living room. Concern was on their faces. Ron was grateful of how his family was there in a time like this; ready to help Hermione, and to support in either outcome.

'Hermione dear,' his mother said, rising from the seat next to the telephone, 'take this chair. The telephone is right there.'

Hermione sat down on the edge of the seat, her legs and hand quivering. She had told Ron that the telephone rather old, and that most new telephones had buttons. This one still had a dial, and she carefully fed in the number by rotating it. She put the horn against her ear. Ron slipped onto the armrest, moving his ear as close to the horn as possible. She turned it a little so he could listen in. The rest of the Weasleys sat as silent spectators. Harry and Ginny were seated close to them on the sofa, Ginny pressed so tightly to Harry that Ron thought she would soon be on his lap. His father had taken his usual seat by the fire, and his eyes were fixed on his wife, listening intently. Molly had moved to stand next to her husband, and held his hand as she gazed into the fire. Even George, who spent much of his time upstairs, was there, a brass horn pushed into the hole of his ear, in an effort to hear better. Ron smirked at him, and George returned the favour. Bill and Fleur stood near the coffee table, hand in hand, his oldest brother making a fist, wishing Hermione strength in a silent gesture.

A tone sounded. It was hollow and metallic. Another tone, then another. Ron suddenly felt afraid the clinic might not pick up the phone. They had not expected that. Suddenly, he heard something.

Click! 'Dental Clinic Hermione, Good morning, how may I help you?'

The voice, sounding equally canned as the dial tone was that of a woman. Ron was pretty sure it was not Hermione's mother.

'Hello,' Hermione said weakly, 'My name is miss Delacour, I'm calling from England, so there may be a bit of a delay on the line.'

There was a pause, and after a moment, the woman on the other end of the line replied.

'I understand. What can I help you with?'

'I will be leaving for Australia in a few hours, and one of my molars is troubling me. I was wondering if it was possible if I could have someone take a look at it upon my arrival.'

Another pause. 'Yes, this is possible. I can schedule you in for a week from now, at noon. Can you make it here that time?'

'Yes,' Hermione said, her voice gaining a bit of the strength and authority it usually possessed, 'May I ask what the names of the physicians are that are working at your clinic?'

Another pause, one that seemed to take ages.

'Our clinic is operated by two dentists and a hygienist,' the canned voice replied, 'The hygienist is called Parssons, the dentists are both called Wilkins. They recently emigrated from England, so you should have something to talk about.'

'Yes,' Hermione said, 'I'm sure we should. Thank you.'

She hung up the phone before the canned voice could reply. Ron was feeling very elated, and didn't know whether he should kiss Hermione or open a bottle of champagne. Hermione seemed dazed.

'Well?' Ginny asked, 'Did you find them? Don't leave us hanging like this.'

Hermione shook out of her trance. 'It's them.'

* * *

The Burrow was in a state of euphoria. After many cheers and hugs and claps on shoulders, they shared a couple of rounds of butterbeers his mother had hidden from them just for this occasion. Hermione was obviously relieved. Ron found her standing by the fire, flanked on both sides by Harry and Ginny when he returned with a fresh round of butterbeers. His mother was hugging her, again. Bill and George were animatedly talking to each other. Fleur's smile was radiant, and she too had hugged Hermione several times now. Ron handed everyone a new drink, except for Bill and Fleur, who announced that they were heading home. Bill didn't know if they would be able to see them before their flight to Australia left, so he wished them a lot of luck.

Hermione had drunk eagerly and deeply. She wasn't a heavy drinker, and though butterbeer was not very strong, he wondered if she was used to drinking so deeply. It was smuggled into the Gryffindor common room occasionally, and he did not remember her ever drinking more than one glass of it. Even in Hogsmeade, when everyone enjoyed a couple of rounds of the golden ale, Hermione had almost always switched to water after the first couple of rounds.

It was around one 'o clock that his mother ushered everyone upstairs. Mister Weasley would have to go to work the next morning, and his mother dropped a hint that they would be doing some chores around the house too.

'Up you go,' she said, stifling Ginny's protests, pushing her daughter up the stairs, 'Not a word from you until tomorrow.'

Ron saw Hermione pick up her glass of butterbeer when his mother's back was turned, and saw her down the contents in one go. She looked at him guiltily when she noticed he had seen her. She meekly complied with his mother's demands to go to bed. They ascended the stairs together, Hermione ahead of him. She turned to face him on the third floor landing. Ron walked up to her, stopping one step shy of the landing. He was still longer than her, but not by as much as usual. Hermione wrapped her arms around him.

'I'm so relieved,' she whispered, 'I was sure she was going to tell me the clinic was run by some muggle we didn't know.'

Ron wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. Breathing in the scent of her hair he told her she had every right to feel relieved, and that if she wanted, he would sneak up another butterbeer for her.

'I'm sorry you saw that,' she said, clearly a little uncomfortable, 'I don't want you to think I was trying to get drunk. I just wanted to celebrate. To let go a little now I know where my parents are.'

'Don't be,' he said, 'I would have fed you another dozen rounds if you felt like it.'

She kissed his neck, saying she hoped he would remember that she would not want him to do that, if the opportunity ever presented itself. She didn't want to get drunk. She pulled away from him, a warm smile on her face.

'I wonder what you would be like drunk,' he said, honestly intrigued by the idea, 'Remind me to liquor you up sometime.'

She swatted his shoulder, then turned to the bathroom, where she went to brush her teeth. They kissed goodnight briefly, and Ron walked up to his bedroom feeling more than a little excited.

* * *

He awoke in the middle of the night. Clutching his wand (a habit they had developed over the passing year he was yet to stop), Ron sat up straight in his bed, a feeling of fear still in his mind. He'd had a nightmare, which was odd, because Ron rarely had bad dreams. He also never awoke without good reason. Living in a household of nine people, he was used to hearing people go to the loo in the middle of the night, and the ghoul in the attic would make a racket if things seemed to get too quiet. He had grown used to sleeping through a bit of noise.

He could clearly remember his dream. It had been odd. Ron had dreamt of being tortured by Bellatrix leStrange, who was hovering over him menacingly, and was clearly enjoying herself. He had dreamt of her cutting him with a silver knife, and it had ended with her shoving it deep into his gut.

The feeling of fear was rising. It felt different, and it took him a moment to realize it felt alien, and must have been from Hermione. He didn't quite understand what had happened. He was holding his wand, so that explained why he was able to feel her emotions, but he wondered how it was possible to feel them without Hermione doing magic. Just holding the wands had never been enough before. One of them had to actually perform magic in order for the other to feel their emotions. And he had also never shared a dream like that before.

Abruptly, the feeling of fear faded away. Perhaps Hermione has woken up, Ron thought. If so, that meant that they would share emotions and even dreams if they were asleep with their wands in their hands, which was a disconcerting idea. He did not want to pry into Hermione's dreams, and he was pretty sure he didn't want Hermione to see some of his own dreams.

Ron wondered if he should put his wand away. It felt a bit wrong to pry into her dreams like this, but he also wanted to know if she was alright. Hermione was probably falling asleep again by now, perhaps still clutching the wand. He glanced at Harry. He was still sleeping soundly in his bed. Harry was knackered from everything that had happened in the past few years. Ron could see the fatigue behind his green eyes. He had been utterly spent since the battle at Hogwarts, and Ron knew he need another few weeks of uninterrupted sleep and heavy meals to get back to normal.

Ron felt a new emotion. Hermione was clearly awake now, and this feeling was quite different from the previous one. Where he could normally feel her feelings and emotions in his head, this feeling came from deep down in his gut. It was small, but insistent, like an itch you just had to scratch. He knew what it was (he had felt it himself often enough) but it was a bit of a shock to feel it coming from Hermione. He knew it was only logical; she was a human being just like the rest of us, but he had never been able to think about it without feeling so ashamed that he started thinking of other things.

Hermione was feeling randy. The kind you feel when you're alone and need some relief. He had felt that more than enough himself. The feeling was alien, but that only made it more potent. It was like a secret window into a part of the woman he loved that she had not yet shown him before. He wondered what to do with it. It was certainly getting him off, he could feel his body react to it in the obvious way it always did when he was getting off. Should he put his wand down? It would break the connection, but he was rather enjoying it. Should he keep holding it? He assumed Hermione did not know he was _listening in_, so to say. His indecision stretched on, and as time progressed, his hornyness increased. So did Hermione's, he realized.

In the end, Ron decided to take a bit of a risk. He cast a spell he had learned at Hogwarts. It was not one he had learned in class, or from a professor. It was a spell he had learned about from whispered conversations in the common room. A spell shared among classmates and fellow students. He had first heard of it from Fred and George, who referenced it in a conversation long ago. He had not had the balls to ask them about it then. Later on, he overheard Dean and Seamus talk about it. They had been swapping information about it. He had learned what the spell did then, and knew instantly that asking Fred or George about it was the wrong idea.

The opportunity presented itself in their fourth year. It was a couple of weeks after the Yule Ball, and Ron had been listening to a couple of seventh year students. One of them mentioned how somebody should cast the spell on one of the Durmstrang visitors. He had asked how to do it then, and though it had earned him a pointed look and backhand remark, they had divulged the information.

The spell was simple. Just a simple up-and-down movement and a short incantation. The effect was instant. An invisible hand wrapped itself around the tip of his penis, and he could feel it stroking him. You had to keep your wand pointed at it, or the spell would break. He suddenly wondered if girls had something similar.

A new set of feelings reared up from the back of his mind in quick succession. The first was surprise, followed almost immediately by realization. He suddenly felt utterly mortified, a feeling that lasted a little while, before giving way to two feelings that presented itself at the same time. The first was surrender, which he knew must have been very difficult to do in this situation. The other was randyness again. Hermione knew he was on the other end, and apparently didn't seem to mind. It turned him on enormously, and Hermione reacted in kind.

The invisible hand was stroking faster now, guided by his own lust. He split his legs apart a little, arching his back in silent joy. Hermione's feeling of lust was quickly escalating. He could feel it pitching up higher and higher. He suppressed a groan, suddenly alarmed about Harry's presence. Harry was still out cold though, and Ron surrendered to the combination of his own lust, mingled with the alien feeling of Hermione's. He came in shocks and spurts, a long, drawn-out explosion that made his balls tingle afterwards. He felt immensely relaxed, and the knowledge that Hermione too had found her release (it had sent him over the edge) was comforting. He _listened in_ on Hermione's feeling of satisfaction, mixed with naughtiness and bit of shame. He wanted to go down to tell her there was no need for her to feel ashamed (even though he knew he felt quite the same); that he didn't think any less of her, and that he was pleasantly surprised.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER V

The following morning could only be described as utterly uncomfortable. Ron awoke just after nine, still groggy from lack of sleep. After falling back to sleep, he had slept like a baby, but he had only had about seven hours of it that night, and he needed at least ten hours to function properly in the morning. He quickly cleaned his trunks and changed into new ones, hoping his mother would not notice the dried crusty stain he had not gotten out entirely. Harry was yet to come back to the living, and Ron decided to leave him there for a little while longer.

He quietly closed the door to his bedroom, and clothes in hand, descended to the bathroom. It was occupied. Ron knocked and asked if whoever was in there would be there long.

The door unlocked, and Hermione slipped out. She was very pink-faced, and stammered a bit. Ron could not get a word out either, so he just grunted something and entered the bathroom. Locking it behind him, he sat down on the toilet. Last night's escapade had reduced them to two awkward teenagers. He was dreading breakfast. How could he ever look at Hermione and not think of her as he had last night? How could he even try to find words to tell her how he felt about it?

After sitting on the toilet bowl of a few minutes, he realized his feelings for Hermione hadn't really changed at all. She was still the same lovely, somewhat bossy girl that he had fallen for years ago. She still looked gorgeous to him, even though she never wore make up, and was currently still a little frail. He loved her. What had transpired between them last night was new, and exciting, and little scary, but he assumed it was only natural in a relationship, and he had loved every part of it. So why did he feel so ashamed?

He took a long shower to wake up properly, brushed his teeth, then went downstairs to eat breakfast. Hermione sat reading a book at her usual chair next to his, the piece of toast in her other hand seemingly forgotten. She turned to look at him and immediately buried her nose in the book again, breathing heavy. Ron sat down next to her. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. He reached out and put a scone on his plate. Should he say something? Should he touch her leg? Every inch of his body was conflicted. He cut open the scone without looking at her, afraid he might lose what little confidence he had. He had never before felt this uncomfortable next to her. Ron took a jar of jam and spread some of it over the scone. He enjoyed his mother's strawberry jam greatly, so he added another scoop. Hermione stirred. She always reprimanded him for taking too much sugar; she had taken after her own parents. He saw her struggle to keep quiet, obviously uncomfortable herself.

Suddenly, Ron lost his feelings of shame and his lack confidence. The fact that Hermione was going through the same thing as he was made him bold and he decided to lighten the situation with a bit of humour. He upended the jam over his scone, the thick substance slowly glooping and glurging out over his plate. He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath, her shock at his absurd behaviour, and the repressed chuckle at his tomfoolery. She looked at him, and he looked back at her. The ice between them broke, and as she put her book away, she dipped her toast into his plate. He kissed her cheek. It was a soft, quick, and innocent kiss. Then, he wolfed down his first scone.

His mother was not all too pleased with her son. Entering the kitchen, she took one look at his plate and snatched the jar of jam from his hands.

'Ronald!' she shrieked, 'What in Merlin's name did you do?'

* * *

After breakfast, his mother quickly set him and Hermione to the task of picking strawberries and blackberries in the garden. It wasn't so much a chore as a reward; the sun was already shining, but it was not yet sweltering. He leisurely cut a berry from the plant as he looked at Hermione. They were alone, for now, and he hoped to be able to get in at least a word about what had happened last night.

'So Hermione,' he said, steeling his resolve, 'I woke up in the middle of the night.'

Hermione didn't say anything, but her dropping a strawberry on the ground told him she had heard him and knew what he was talking about.

'Are you having nightmares?' he asked, thinking it wise not to beat around the bush too much, 'About _her_?'

Hermione stopped midway with her hand to the ground, then straightened. 'Yes,' she said with a shrug, 'For a while now. I don't want you to worry about them,' she said firmly, 'Because I don't either. I had them more often at Shell Cottage, but they are becoming fewer and less frightening. I think it will pass soon.'

'Do you want me to help you with anything?' he asked.

'Like what?' she said, 'There really isn't much to do against it. I could take a potion of dreamless sleep, but that won't fix the problem; it will only suppresses the effects. I could sleep next to you, but I'm sure that won't keep me from having bad dreams; as pleasant as sleeping next to you is.'

He smiled at that. He had not forgotten how wonderful it had been to wake up next to her, even if Harry had been shaking him. He thought about waking up next to her in their own place, preferably after a good night of shagging. Bliss.

'I don't feel like the nightmares are such a problem. It's not like I wake up screaming every other hour. They are just bad dreams. It's a little inconvenient, but in the end, it's just a dream. She's dead, and I'm alive.'

'Yes, very much alive,' Ron said, hoping she would pick up from there. Hermione froze again, but didn't reply. She studied her hands intently. When it became apparent to him that she was not going to begin about it, he breathed in deeply. He moved closer to her, picking up the strawberry that was still on the ground. 'That was a rather pleasant surprise,' he said, offering her the strawberry, 'One I hope you wouldn't mind sharing with me again.'

His face must have been purple judging by the heat he felt on his cheeks and ears. His heart was beating rapidly, and he couldn't keep his hands steady. Hermione took the strawberry out of his hand, and when she did, her hand lingered just a little too long. He looked into her eyes. There was a confidence there he had not seen before.

'Perhaps tonight,' she said, 'It depends on how I feel.' She popped the strawberry into her mouth.

Judging by the look she gave him as she chewed on it, Ron thought he would not have to worry overly much about that.

They did not discuss last night after that. Ron was sent out into town to get some meat for dinner, and Hermione told him she would be reading up on customs and traditions in Australia. He left her sitting at the dinner table, four or five books surrounding her, scribbling absently on a bit of parchment.

Ron felt rather pleased. It was another sunny summer afternoon, and Hermione and he had made a significant step in their relationship yesterday. He was anxious for more, to feel her and taste her. He wanted sex with her, he wanted it very much. Just thinking of it had given him a massive erection. He had known her for years now. They loved each other, so much was clear. This was not puppy love. Ron was ready to be with her in full. To lay with her, like man and woman, instead of boy and girl.

He felt a little uncomfortable having promised his mother they would not have sex before getting Hermione's parents back. He wanted nothing more to do just that; to feel her, to experience her completely. It was on the back of his mind whenever they were apart, and on the front whenever they weren't. During lunch, Hermione had taken his hand in hers, and he had spent the next ten minutes fantasizing about doing her right there, on the kitchen table. Much of it was fantasy: Ron had never had sex before, so all he could draw from was what he thought it would feel like. He knew what went where (his brothers's collection of skin magazines had taught him something), but what it would feel like was a big unknown to him.

Ron tried to push the thought away again. He was already passing muggles on the road, and it would not do to keep thinking about Hermione like this. He had promised his mother they would try to keep off each other, and he had every intention to keep his word. Just like he had every intention of shagging Hermione the first chance they got. _Damn it!_

Standing at the butcher's shop, he ordered a couple of dozen breakfast sausages, some rashers of bacon, and a couple of pounds of spare ribs his mother wanted to have for dinner. Passing the butcher a note of muggle money (Ron still didn't quite grasp the coinage), he waited for his change. His mother didn't often send them out to town for food. Most of the vegetables and potatoes were grown in the garden. Meat was mostly delivered by a witch with a supermarket on wheels who worked the Devon area. She drove a big truck that looked more like a bus crossed with a house. She sold everything from toilet paper to baking soda. His mum sometimes sold her eggs or endive. She was on a holiday though, and for the past week, the Weasley family had been forced to buy their food in town. It wasn't much of an inconvenience. Ron quite liked the walk into town and back.

Receiving his change and a bag loaded with meat, Ron took off back to the Burrow. He was thinking of Hermione, the front of his pants becoming constrictive again. He needed to force those thoughts out of his mind. They would be heading to Australia soon, perhaps spending a full week with her. If his every thought would be about getting into her pants, he was sure she would be crawling up the woodwork with him, and his mother would be sorely disappointed.

He busied himself with thinking about how they would leave from Darwin to Brisbane. The Australian ministry would probably be able to arrange for some form of transportation, but if they had to, apparation would still be a viable alternative. The distance between the two cities was vast, but with a stopover in one or two cities along the way, it should be possible.

* * *

He arrived at the Burrow around two 'o clock. Hermione had buried herself in even more books, ranging from simple muggle travel guides, to big tomes about the magical history of Australia. When he entered, she looked up, smiling sweetly at him.

'Doing a bit of light reading?' he asked, setting the meat in the fridge. She leaned back.

'Not all that light,' she said, 'Catching up on my history of magic in Australia. We've caused a lot of havoc there in the past.'

'Who's we?' he asked, not really remembering anything about Australia from professor Binns's lectures.

'The British,' she said, 'The Dutch found the continent first, but the aboriginals cast a spell on them to make them forget about it. It sort of worked, the Dutch didn't pursue it with any real fervour. It was mostly left alone for years until an English sailor set foot on what would be known as New South Wales.' She pointed it out on a map.

'The British empire started using the continent as a forced labour camp,' she continued, 'And slowly expanded its territory. Obviously, the aboriginals didn't much feel happy about that. They started a magical war, and lost mostly because our side had a very gifted wizard in charge. He routed the aboriginals by inventing the potion of dreamless sleep.'

'Wait,' Ron said, 'What does that have to do with winning this war?'

'The aboriginals practice dream-magic. It's a bit much to explain, but their powers lay in shaping dreams, understanding them, and bending them. They could invade other peoples's dreams and even harm them there.'

'By inventing the potion of dreamless sleep, our side was able to quickly do away with the strongest offense the aboriginals could muster. They were subjugated for years. It is a really sad tale. We also gave them a lot of diseases, sometimes accidentally, but not always. It's only been since the nineteen sixties that they are being treated rightly.'

Ron thought it was typical for Hermione to study the land she would be visiting soon only to find an oppressed or mistreated group of individuals whom she could identify with. By the sound of it, these people had been treated very poorly indeed, and he could imagine Hermione setting up another SPEW-like cause for them.

'I've been thinking about how we should go to Brisbane,' he said, 'The Australian ministry should be able to set us up with a portkey or something like the Knight Bus. We should look up how to get into contact with them.'

'I've already listed their number. It was in one of the brochures your dad took home from work.'

His father had been very busy organising their trip. The ministry had (grudgingly) agreed to pay for their tickets, and even for a room in a hotel in Brisbane. He had been calling their ministry half the night for almost three days now, getting into contact with the right people and planning for their arrival.

'Good,' he said, 'You look like you could use a break.'

She arched her back, stretching her arms out behind her for full effect. She yawned.

'Why don't you go lay down on the sofa,' he said, 'You can go to sleep for a few hours before dinner.'

'That sounds lovely,' she replied, 'Will you sit by my side? You don't look all that fresh yourself.'

* * *

They slept for about two hours. He had felt a little silly, sitting at the edge of the sofa, with Hermione's legs draped over him, but sleep quickly numbed him down enough to stop caring. Then, he had fallen straight to sleep. During those two hours, his mother had started preparing dinner. Harry and Ginny had gotten in to play a game of wizard's chess, which Harry had spectacularly lost, because Ginny kept distracting him by playing footsy under the table. His father arrived through the fireplace, glancing at the two young wizards on the couch a moment, then walking up to his wife to kiss her. It was the smell of spare ribs over the fire that shook him from his dreams.

Those dreams had been wild and confusing. He didn't remember them (he never did), but he knew they had made even less sense than usual. They were a jumbled mess of kissing and more with Hermione, fighting along the corridors of Hogwarts, and flying on a dragon. He was sure there had been a dream where he and Hermione had been playing quidditch with Kreacher, Dobby, and Winky as other players.

It took a little while for Ron to realize Hermione's legs were still firmly on top of him, and that the kitchen was significantly busier than before. Hermione was still soundly asleep. Her face was buried in the crook of the sofa, her bushy hair fanned out in a tangled mess behind her. Her hands were wrapped around her body, and she seemed to sleep peacefully.

Ron turned to look around in the kitchen. His eyes fell on Harry and Ginny, who were playing another game of Wizard's Chess. Harry was studying the board, his legs and feet firmly pushed back out for some reason. Ginny was eyeing him seductively, rolling a white pawn between her thumb and index finger. Harry's ears were a bit red.

His mother was washing some vegetables, but when she glanced at him, he saw her smile sweetly.

'Finally up, Ronny?' she asked quietly, 'You two looked like you could use a couple of extra hours of sleep.'

'Yes,' he said, stifling a yawn. 'But I think even a couple of extra years of sleep would not be enough for us right now.'

'Why don't you wake Hermione up, dear,' his mother said, turning to check up on the spare ribs, 'Dinner will be ready soon.'

Ron reached out to wake Hermione, settling his hand on the outside of her thigh and shaking her a little. He felt he stir a little, unwilling to relinquish her dream world for the waking world. She muttered something incomprehensible, and buried her face even deeper into the pillows of the sofa.

'Wake up, love,' Ron said, shaking her leg a little more, 'It's almost dinner time. Are you hungry?'

'Yes,' she answered, opening her eyes just a fraction, still half-asleep.

Everyone was seated at the dinner table less than ten minutes later. Hermione was still sleepy; her hair was standing on end on one side, and her eyes were out of focus. She nibbled a small set of ribs. Ron dumped another set on her plate, knowing Hermione would not eat more of it if he didn't. She disliked eating meat right off the bone, and rarely did. At Hogwarts, she never ate chicken wings or drum sticks, opting for salads or steaks instead. She needed to gain weight though, and Ron would not let her dislike keep her from getting back some much needed fat. She sighed in frustration.

'You need to eat up,' Ron said seriously, keeping his voice down to keep the conversation private, 'I don't want you to pass out again.'

'I know,' she said, 'I just hate gnawing those bones.'

'Let me cut it for you,' he said, lifting the meat to his own plate. The meat was juicy and tender, and Ron was able to clean most of the meat off of the bone with his knife and fork, then dumped it back on her plate. Still sleepy, Hermione gave his hand an absent squeeze as a thank you. He grinned back sheepishly.

'It's like watching a documentary,' George said, 'I can just imagine sir David Attenborough saying "Now behold how the male tries to impress his female by supplying her with much needed sustenance".' Harry snickered, and even his parents couldn't suppress a smile. 'The female is impressed. She acknowledges him. The male is one step closer to mounting her.' Harry and Ginny doubled up, but his parents shot him a warning look. George's eyes lit up a little. Hermione turned a little pink, and gingerly poked at her dinner. Ron simply studied it.

Everyone went their separate ways after dinner. Harry and Ginny usually left for long walks round the Burrow. Ron knew Harry still had a lot to tell Ginny about their trials. Ron also knew he was feeling responsible for Lupin and Tonks dying. Teddy was his godson, and Harry worried about how his abilities as a godfather. He had not discussed it with Ron and Hermione yet, but Ron knew Harry would only start about it when he felt ready to discuss it.

It had always been like that. Harry was very guarding of his feelings, and it took him a while to start opening up about things that troubled him. Ron could relate; he also enjoyed keeping his thoughts and feelings private. The connection between his wand and Hermione's troubled him a little. He was certain that he loved her, but he wasn't used to sharing his emotions that openly. Whenever he would cast a spell, Hermione would be able to sense him. It frightened him because he sometimes felt things he would prefer to remain private. Some of his thoughts and emotions were less than noble. Would Hermione like the less-than-perfect side of him?

Ron knew he could be selfish. It was a childish behaviour he knew was wrong, but it was always at the front of his mind. If he saw a knut fall from someone's pocket, he would take it, instead of returning it. If he could find a way to win at a game, he would, even if that person had never won before. Hermione was different. She would let the other person win to make him or her feel good. She was selfless, which was part of her drive behind S.P.E.W.

He wondered if Hermione had the same reservations about sharing her feelings. Her mind (and he assumed her thoughts) was a lot more beautiful and perfect than his. She was selfless and powerful, headstrong and kind, gentle and caring. He just couldn't imagine Hermione's feelings to be as flawed as his own.

They were up in his room. Hermione had taken her usual spot at the windowsill. The room was stiflingly hot, and she had conjured a small fan she was using to cool herself. Ron sat in his office chair again, rolled up near enough to the window to prop his feet up. He was playing with a bit of Hermione's bluebell flames. They illuminated the room brightly. Ron wondered what the deluminator would do with them, so he took it out and clicked it. The lights went off, and the bluebell flames went along with them. Hermione seemed a bit surprised, so he clicked the deluminator again. The lights sprang back on again, but the bluebell flames did not return. Ron made a mental note to try this with a bit of regular fire soon.

With the deluminator in his hands, Ron thought back on his departure less than a year ago. It still shamed him enormously. Dumbledore had left Hermione a children's book, because he knew she was smart enough to figure out that the story of the Deathly Hallows on her own. He had left Harry the resurrection stone, because he knew Harry would be able to resist the power of the combined Hallows. It irked him that he had left Ron the deluminator, assuming correctly that Ron would leave them. He wished it had not been necessary.

Some of his emotion must have been visible on his face. Hermione turned her face to look at him, and said: 'Unpleasant memories?' He looked up at her, struck again by her natural beauty.

'I just feel so stupid for walking out on you two.' They had discussed his departure before, but only superficially. Hermione knew he felt ashamed about it, but had told him that it was in the past for her. She told him he had been under the influence of the locket, and that he would not have left if things had been different. He agreed on it (somewhat), but it still felt bad that Dumbledore had needed to anticipate it. 'I feel even more stupid that Dumbledore had to give me this to find my way back.'

'Harry and I talked about it a little while after I returned,' he continued, wanting it off his chest, 'I told him about how Dumbledore left it because he knew I'd leave you two, but Harry said Dumbledore had thought I'd want to return. It was nice of him to say so, but we all know it is the other way around.'

'Do you really think so?' Hermione asked, 'Do you really think that?'

'Don't you?' he said incredulously.

'Dumbledore was a great wizard, Ronald, but he wasn't much of a clairvoyant. Harry told me he had wanted to remove Divination as a course at Hogwarts, and that Trelawny was hire more for her own protection than for her abilities. Dumbledore couldn't have predicted how the locket would affect us, nor how specifically it affected you. I think he had another motive for giving you the deluminator.'

'Really?' Ron said, not quite convinced by her reasoning.

'What if, to look for a Horcrux, we had to split up. We did exactly that, mind you, when we went to scout out the ministry. What if Dumbledore wanted to leave one of us a method of finding the others when they were in distress?'

'I'm not following you there,' Ron said. Hermione and Harry had been in distress when they were almost killed by the snake and Voldemort. He hadn't heard them then.

'What if the deluminator works in a way that you can find people who call on you?'

'Wouldn't I have heard anyone else by now then?' Ron asked, 'There must have been a time when someone who needed me said my name. My mother, or my sister.'

'I think it has to be a very emotional kind of situation. Your parents love you, Ron, but I don't think they were ever in a situation where they really needed you to be there, and said your name. Nor your sister. She is the type of girl that solves her own problems.'

Ron mulled it over. He supposed that it could be possible. None of his friends and family had needed him that badly. Not specifically him. But why would Dumbledore not have given Harry the deluminator?

As if Hermione could hear him thinking, she answered his question: 'I think he might have given it to you because Dumbledore thought you the most dependable. Ron, you have a special place in Harry's heart, and obviously in mine too. If Harry was in trouble, and he'd need somebody, you would be the person he'd call out for. It's the same for me. I think Dumbledore gave it to you because you would be the brave and loyal man you always are.' Her hand slipped into his. 'You would rush to our aid in any situation.'

Hermione's reasoning made sense, but he could not make himself believe it. Hermione had not been in any distress when she had said his name, nor could he convince himself that Dumbledore had thought of him as courageous. He voiced his doubts.

'Ronald,' she said, her brow set in worry, 'You have done such incredible things these past few years. Dumbledore would have been blind if he had not seen it.'

'Also,' she continued, sounding a little unsure now, 'I remember that night very well. I remember missing you so much that it hurt. I had cried for weeks, but I had also been angry that you had left me. Not Harry and me, but just me. Then, when the events at Godrick's Hollow played out, I kept thinking "If only Ron had been there". It was the first time I said your name without feeling angry at you. Just sadness. And longing.'

'Longing?'

Hermione smiled shyly, 'Yes, Ron. I missed you so much and I was longing to see you again. Longing to have you near me. I'm not the same without you.'

Ron rolled up his chair to her and kissed her. He didn't really know what to say, so he kept his mouth occupied differently instead. Hermione complied, and he felt her relax a little. She was still wound up very tightly these days. Kissing her had a positive effect on her though, she relaxed more, and didn't fret so much afterwards.

Hermione leaned in eagerly, kissing Ron with equal zeal. She slipped off the windowsill and onto his lap. Ron sought for a place to put his hands. The thought of cupping one of her breasts came to mind, but he settled for putting his hands on her waist instead. Hermione gave a slight grunt of appreciation. Ron pulled her in close, until the chair made an ominous groan. It wasn't going to hold both their weights for long.

Ron wrapped one of his arms around Hermione's legs and lifted her up from his lap as he got up. It wasn't as easy as he thought it would be. Hermione might not be at her heaviest, but lifting just over seven stone while also getting up took him considerable strength. Hermione wrapped her arms around his neck, obviously surprised. He walked her up to his bed, gently setting her down.

'So what was that about me having a special place in your heart again?' he quipped as he lay down next to her. Hermione brushed some of his hair out of his eyes.

'You are my boyfriend,' she stated simply. Ron could feel himself swell with a bit of pride, 'My very own courageous Gryffindor.'

Hermione kissed his forehead, then his brow and his nose. She smiled. 'I can't believe you still doubt yourself after everything that you've accomplished.'

'I can't believe you still feel like you need to prove yourself after everything you've accomplished. Which is a lot more than I ever did.'

His comment struck a nerve. Hermione was silent for a while, her nervous fidgeting with her fingernails again striking him. How could he have missed something so obvious?

'We should go to sleep. I'm knackered.'

'Can't you stay for a little while longer?' he asked, hoping to prolong his time with her.

'No Ron,' she said sternly, 'We have to get up early tomorrow to do some shopping, remember?'

'What if we'll just leave an hour later?' he tried.

'No Ron, I want to be finished with shopping early,' she replied definitively in her bossy way. Ron knew any discussion of the subject was now finished.

'There's the Hermione I fell in love with,' he replied. Hermione had not been very bossy in the past few weeks, which Ron had attributed to her fatigued and frail form. He hoped this meant she was getting stronger again, 'Headstrong to a fault.'

'You're lecturing me about being headstrong?' she asked, a smile on her face, 'Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.'

'You'll have us in a bellowing row before the end of the week…' Ron joked, and Hermione chuckled openly to it. She kissed his lips tenderly, then proceeded to leave for the bathroom.

'Will you – Can we –' Ron mumbled. It was hard to say it out loud. Hermione did not seem eager to say anything either. Ron fervently hoped they would listen in on each other using the bond between the wands again. He had been thinking about it all day long, hoping Hermione would want to as well. He told her so (in a rather embarrassed sort of way).

'So have I,' she said at last, 'I'd like to, but I'm very tired. Can we do that another time?'

'Sure,' he said, hoping his disappointment didn't show too much on his face, 'We'll have more than enough time for that this summer.'


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER VI

Ron had been expecting it, and when he woke up in the middle of the night feeling very afraid, it took him only a moment to realize he was actually feeling Hermione's fright through the connection of their wands. It was really weird experiencing these conflicting emotions at the same time. He knew he wasn't afraid, but he could still feel fear running through his veins. His body was reacting to Hermione's fear as if it was his own, making his heart race and his throat dry. He could feel his heartbeat in his eardrums, and his eyes were dilated.

Hermione's fear was still rising; she had obviously not woken up yet. This presented Ron with a bit of a dilemma. He wanted to go downstairs to wake her up, but he knew Hermione didn't want him to make a scene. If he got out of bed, he would wake Harry, if he went down the stairs quickly, he would wake his parents, and if he walked into her room he would wake Ginny.

He thought about using the wand to let her listen in on his emotions. Perhaps it would help her out of the bad dream. Before he could cast the spell however, he felt Hermione calm down, and he felt her emotion fade. She had awoken. For a moment, he felt hopeful. Perhaps Hermione would seek solace like she had done the night before. It remained silent on the other end of the line though, and Ron felt a little disheartened. Suddenly, there she was again. He listened in and felt her emotions for just a moment. Perhaps she had performed a minor spell to fluff up her pillow, or something of the sort. Her emotions had been wild. She was still rather shaken, and he could almost taste the frustration she felt. He wanted to reassure her.

Ron tried to focus on his own emotions. He wanted Hermione to know he cared for her, that he was proud of her, and that everything would be all right. He broke off his spell twice, once because he felt a bit of his disappointment about how they would not be doing anything frisky that night, and once because he felt angry at Bellatrix for having tortured her. Hoping to convey a sense of peace, he tried again. He finally did manage to perform the spell while feeling the right emotions. He was quite pleased with himself, and he had to remind himself to stop performing the spell. He didn't want to share anything that didn't help Hermione feel better. It was quiet for a little while on the line. Hermione might have fallen asleep again.

Suddenly, there was new set of emotions. The first was gratitude. He figured she was grateful for his show of affection. The second feeling was obviously love. It was strong and deep, quite unlike her usual, more logical emotions. The last was something like humour. She must have felt the pride he had felt with himself.

He performed the spell again, remembering to stop it afterwards quickly. His spell had picked up the box of gobstones off the ground. It fell back with a dull thud. Ron glanced at Harry, but he did not move. He had tried to send over indignation and humour, hoping to lighten up Hermione's thoughts a bit before she fell back to sleep. A flare of an emotion welled up again: Innocence; as if to say 'I had nothing to do with it.'

Ron meant to send back a glimpse of his amusement, but in his enthusiasm, he lifted the box of gobstones up a bit too high. It pivoted, and when it fell back onto the floor, several of the gobstones clattered out.

'Wh- What was that?' Harry asked, looking around dazed.

'Nothing,' Ron said, suppressing a chuckle, 'Go back to sleep.'

As Harry turned around and fell back to sleep, he felt a bit of mirth coming from Hermione. The sound of the falling gobstones had apparently even reached her, all the way down at the first floor. Half the house must have awoken.

The spent a little while sending emotions to each other, listening in on each other. Ron thought about how natural it felt. They had not been together as a couple for more than a fortnight, but he was starting to get to know Hermione's emotions more and more. With each passing emotion, he could identify them better. He could sense her emotions clearer, but could also recognise that they were hers better. Sometimes, he thought he could even sense what she had been thinking of, but that was probably just wishful thinking from his part.

* * *

Ron emerged from bed closely after nine. It was the summer vacation, and he has getting up at what felt like the crack of dawn. When he arrived downstairs after a quick shower, he found his mother had already finished preparing breakfast. She had stocked scones and bagels. There were also very crispy croissant-like rolls that had some brownish goo in the middle. His mother saw his interest.

'Hermione told me those were called "Pain au Chocolat" in France. Chocolate bread.'

Hermione sat at her usual seat, doing her usual activity at breakfast; reading. She had finished reading up on the history of Australia, and was now thoroughly investigating the cities they were planning on visiting. There were two maps in front of her on the table.

Scooping two pieces of the chocolate bread onto his plate, he said: 'I'll never speak ill of the French again.' Then, he plomped down onto his own seat, giving Hermione a peck on the cheek. It made her blush, as his mother was still watching them. She kept her attention on the book though.

'How's the preparations going?' he asked her, 'Have you memorized all the names of the streets in Brisbane yet?' Hermione glanced at him for a moment, a raised eyebrow indicating what she thought of his joke. Ron knew how much the trip meant to her. She truly missed her parents, just like Ron had missed his parents when they were on the road. Sitting here, comfortably in his parents's old kitchen, eating a lovely breakfast, Ron was aware of how lucky their family had been. How easily they had returned to their previous lives. Except for Fred. The thought of him sent a guilty pang down Ron's throat, and he quickly dropped it.

It must have shown on his face, or in his demeanour. Perhaps Hermione had noticed the moment of hesitation, when his mouth had opened to take a bite, but it hadn't done so. Either way, she had noticed it, and her hand found his for a long, considerate squeeze. It told him she was there for him, should he feel the need to discuss it. Ron loved how Hermione could convey such complex things to him without needing words. He looked at her gratefully, then reached out to check out the map.

'We could apparate here,' he said after a little while, making an intuitive tactical analysis, 'It is secluded, but not too far away from the clinic.' His finger indicated a small street less than a mile from where Hermione's parents had their dental clinic. 'We could walk this route here,' he said, as his finger moved from the suggested apparation point to a small park, 'Perhaps we could check out the clinic first. We might want to make sure both your parents are there when we enter.'

'That sounds good, Ronald,' Hermione said, her eyes focussed on the map, 'That is a really good suggestion. We should do that.' He squeezed her hand now, and a smile appeared on her face. She was worried, that much was evident as he sat beside her, but she seemed to lighten up a little with him around.

'We're leaving for some shopping in fifteen minutes,' Hermione suddenly said, 'So eat up. I've got to go upstairs to get ready. I'll see you here.' Hermione carefully folded the maps back. Ron couldn't understand how she was able to fold everything back the original way. Harry wouldn't let him near the marauders's map anymore after he had tried folding it in. It still bore some odd creases.

After Hermione left, Ron suddenly noticed his mother staring at him. When he did, she gave him a small smile.

'You two really make an adorable couple,' she said, 'I'm glad you two finally got together.'

'Not as much as we are,' he quipped, feeling a bit warm in the face.

'Since you will be leaving tomorrow afternoon, I wanted to talk to you for a moment,' his mother said, and Ron nearly choked in his orange juice when she did.

'Don't worry, Ron, I'm not going to waste my time giving you The Talk. I'm pretty sure you are both old and wise enough to know about the birds and the bees, and I'm pretty sure Hermione knows any spellwork related to it.'

'I wanted to ask you to be as supportive as you can with her. Hermione never struck me as somebody who wears her emotions on her sleeves, but an emotional trip like this can mess with your head. I want you to be prepared in case she breaks down.'

'Hermione is quite strong,' Ron said, noting a bit of pride that had crept into his voice, 'I'm sure she will amaze us all.'

'None the less,' his mother said, 'Prepare for it. Don't get caught at unawares. Help her in any way you can. Comfort her if she needs it. She is strong (I saw that a lot earlier than you did, young man) but she is still human, and you need to be there for her when she needs you the most. It might be just a quick embrace, or a hand on her shoulder, but could also be more.'

'I know Hermione is tense and nervous,' Ron said, 'but I hardly think she will break down.'

'Yes, so it seems,' she said, 'but Hermione guards her feelings and thoughts well. The front she shows us might be strong, but we can't be sure if she actually feels that way.'

Ron was about to tell her he knew how she felt perfectly well, but swallowed his reply. He wasn't ready to share the bond between their wands with his mother just yet. It was still strange and new, and he did not want the whole family to meddle with their affairs. He took a quick sip from his orange juice, swallowed, then told her he would take care of her if at any time she needed him to.

'That's wonderful of you, son,' she said, smiling at him brightly, 'Really wonderful. Listen, I've been thinking about the shopping. You really don't have that many good clothes for the winter anymore, so I want you to stock up a bit. Hermione is a dear for offering to pay for the clothes, but I'd rather see her spend her money on something for herself. Besides, you are going to need muggle money in Australia.'

She took out her purse and rummaged in it for a moment. From it, she extracted a couple of banknotes Ron knew to be muggle money. 'This is about a hundred pounds. It's about twenty galleons. I want you two to spend this money before you start spending hers, yes?'

'Yes, mum,' he said, grateful for his mother's financial support. He had mostly owned hand-me-down robes and clothes, and being given the chance to buy himself some new clothes, clothes that actually suited him, meant a lot to him. He got up and gave her a hug.

* * *

It was half past ten, and Ron and Hermione were standing in front of the brightly lit entrance to the Castlepoint Shopping Centre. It was a large and modern building made of steel and glass. Hermione pulled on Ron's sleeve, getting him to move forward. Ron was ever hesitant about walking in muggle surroundings. He felt out of place in those places; exposed. He kept expecting them to start pointing at him. Hermione assured him they would not even notice him unless he stopped gawking at everything like a baby.

'We're going to need some shirts and pants for you,' she said, her eyes on a placard listing all of the shops on the ground floor, 'Not to mention shoes, socks, maybe a hat of some sort…'

'Hermione,' Ron said, 'It's not like I don't have any clothes at all.'

'Oh really?' she asked.

'Yeah! My wardrobe might not exactly be overflowing, but I must have at least ten jumpers and five pairs of pants.'

'All of which clash horribly with your hair or are at least two sizes too small for you. I want you to have some clothes that suit you, Ron.'

Feeling a bit foolish, and feeling his ears tingle, Ron followed Hermione into one of the shops in the mall.

'Right,' she said, 'I'm assuming you never did any shopping for clothes before, so I'm going to have to explain some of the basics. This mall is a bit like Diagon Alley: it houses several different shops, and each shop has its own target audience. Some of them are marketed for elderly women, some for young mothers, others for youths. We are in a relatively hip store now that markets young adults. If you check the prices, you will notice that some of these shirts are over fifty quid. I recommend that you buy something less expensive, unless you really, really like it.'

'How much is fifty quid?'

'About ten galleons.'

'Yikes.'

'I know,' Hermione said gravely, 'There are people who save up a lot of money so they can wear the latest clothes of the most exclusive brands, but I don't peg you for that type. Most shirts are something between ten and thirty quid. If you want, you can also go for the garments at the sale, they are discounted.'

'Why? Are they broken?'

'No, just out of fashion.'

Hermione led Ron to one of the tables displaying shirts on sale. Most of them were five quid and though there were some really horrid ones, Ron quickly found a couple he liked. Hermione led him to one of the changing rooms. As he was changing into one of the new shirts, Ron thought of how odd it was that muggles would value clothes that were a little bit older so little. They were still very nice. His own shirts were always patchy and frayed. Pulling the new shirt over his head, he checked his reflection in the mirror. He thought he looked quite nice. The shirt fit him snugly, as if it was tailored to him. He pulled the curtain aside and saw Hermione smile a little.

'You like it?'

She blushed a little. 'You look very handsome, Ron. Try the others.'

* * *

Ron had tried out several other shirts, with varying degrees of success. Hermione had practically ordered him out of a purple tee shirt, claiming that the clashing colours of the shirt and his hair was making her feel queasy. The next shirt, a sleeveless tank top with three alternating colours that was skin-tight made her blush and a short-sleeve button-down shirt that was a plain white colour earned him a positive nod.

He left the store with three new shirts (among which the tank top which Hermione had demanded he buy), a pack of plain black boxers, and a pair of trousers. Ron had visited three more shops, and was now carrying four heavy plastic bags.

'Where to now?' he asked, after another ten pound bill had left his wallet.

'I want to buy you a cap,' she said. She kissed his cheek, then softly whispered into his ear 'That cute ginger hair of yours might attract too much attention. I want to remain anonymous in Australia.'

They found a nice baseball cap in a shop selling sports apparel. It was dark navy and held the logo of an English soccer team Ron didn't even know the name of. He liked it. It covered most of his short-cropped red hair, and fitted his head easily. He had put it on right after paying for it. Hermione was stealing glances at him.

'What?' he asked, after she had been eyeing him for the fifth time in under a minute.

'Nothing,' she said, 'The cap suits you.'

'Thanks,' Ron replied, unsure of how to react to her compliment. 'Aren't you going to buy anything?'

'No,' she said, 'The wardrobe at my parents is still full of my old clothes. I can just take a couple of those.'

'Don't you want anything nice? Something new?' he asked. They had spent over ninety minutes shopping for him, and Hermione had not spent a dime on herself yet.

'Well,' she said, 'I might just hop into Topshop. I need a – err – well, a bra.'

Ron fought down the urge to lapse into an uncomfortable silence. He and Hermione were an item now, and this was just a piece of clothing she needed.

'I – err – I see. Let's go then.'

Now, it was Ron's turn to drag Hermione along. She was obviously uncomfortable, and Ron could sense her unease as they ascended the escalator. 'So, why don't they just install a stair here?' he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

'Most people don't want to walk,' she said curtly.

'Ah.'

Once upstairs, Ron followed Hermione as she walked past several aisles of bra's and other nightwear. He made an effort not to look too much at all of the posters that advertised certain brands, knowing Hermione would not appreciate him doing so. It was difficult. The posters were positively huge, and though they didn't move, they were still rather present. It didn't help that on each of them was a gorgeous girl or woman wearing practically nothing.

'What about this one?' Ron said, focussing his attention to finding a nice bra for Hermione. He pointed out a white bra with a floral pattern.

'No,' Hermione said, 'I need a different kind of bra.'

'What, there are different types?'

'Yes,' she said, her cheeks colouring a little, 'I'll need one from this rack here.'

She pointed at the rack next to the one Ron had been studying. These bra's looked a bit sturdier. The other ones had been made of thin materials. His mother wore those, he had seen them laying around in the clothes bin and the laundry often enough. These were more rigid, thicker. He ran a blue one through his hands. His fingers felt a slight bump at the base of each cup. He bit back any questions he felt bubbling up inside, knowing instinctively they would not be appreciated. Hermione was uncharacteristically silent.

'I like this one,' he said, taking a sapphire blue bra with white stripes from a hanger, 'Blue always looks good on you.'

'Let's see if they have my size,' she replied, a content smile appearing on her lips. She started running through the hanger with her fingers. She took out a 32A, a sigh escaping her lips, which were no longer smiling.

She picked out another bra, a green one with a silver lining. Ron walked with her to the dressing area, and waited in front of the curtain of her cubicle. After about a minute (Ron started feeling a little ridiculous, and noticed that other guys waiting for their girlfriends were also looking supremely bored) he heard her say his name. He carefully inched the curtain aside, making enough room for him to pop his head in. Hermione was standing in front of him, wearing her denim jeans, and only the blue bra above it. The first thing that came to his mind was how fragile and insecure she looked. She obviously didn't know where to leave her arms, settling on crossing them over her stomach in the end. She looked very self-aware.

'I like it,' Ron said simply. He really did; the bra gave her petite figure some much needed curvature. Her beautiful waist still arched in dramatically even though Hermione was slowly regaining her normal weight, but apart from that, Hermione possessed little in the way of feminine contours. Her hips were rather straight, and her bottom was a little flat. Hermione's breasts were small, but Ron loved them none the less. They suited her. The bra made her breasts a little bit more defined.

'I'll try the other one,' she said, 'Close the curtains, will you?'

The other bra fit her too, but Ron told her he liked the blue one better, which ended any discussion. Hermione returned the green bra to the rack, then paid for the blue one. Hermione counted out how much money they still had. It wasn't much.

'How much does a new bag cost?' Ron asked Hermione, knowing he had promised to buy her a new one.

'That kind of depends on the bag. I guess we have enough to be able to buy one, provided it isn't from a major brand.'

'Then let's do that,' he said, 'I don't have any money of my own at the moment, but I'll pay my parent's back when I do.'

They had passed a bag store on their way to Topshop, so they turned back and went inside. The shop held hundreds of bags in varying sizes. While Hermione browsed through stack of discounted satchels, Ron absently strolled around. The back of the store was filled with modern trunks, most of them made of plastic or aluminium. They came in hundreds of different sizes, some with extra pockets and zippers to hold small items.

In the end, Hermione found a nice dark green bag made of velour and leather that was just big enough to hold a couple of notebooks. She seemed happy with it.

Having finished they shopping, Hermione was visibly relieved and told him she wanted to go to one more place before they returned to the Burrow. Ron meekly followed her, as they made their way out of the shopping centre and into the parking lot. There, they hid behind a couple of cars and apparated out.

* * *

The city of Cambridge was quite large for English standards, with a busy city centre and many students. There were quite a few parks, and the river Cam ran through it, bifurcating it into an upper half, and a lower half. Most of the university grounds were in the lower half. In the upper half, there were three residential neighbourhoods called "King's Hedges", "Chesterton", and "Arbury", and near the point where these three neighbourhoods joined, was a road called Orchard Avenue.

Orchard Avenue was ill named; there wasn't an orchard in sight. The road was lined with large houses, most of them duplexes. Near the end of the street was a three-story duplex building with its own driveway. It was empty now, as it had been for nearly a year. The family that had lived there (nobody could quite recall the name, though it was at the tips of their tongues if you had asked them about it. Gardner perhaps?) had moved away to Australia.

People were unsure if it had actually been a family. At first, everyone had been quite sure that it had just been a husband and wife (Greene?), but as time progressed some people became quite convinced that there had also been a child. The family (Grant?) had not sold the house, and though some spoke ill of leaving an abandoned house in their upper class neighbourhood, most people just accepted the now somewhat forlorn building. They assumed the family (it must have been Grant) had only temporarily left. Their neighbours could not tell; they had just vacated the house without notice, and though madam Burlington was usually quite keen on the comings and goings on _her_ street, even she had not been able to tell what had made the family leave.

The houses all had a back yard, and most of those held small sheds. One of them contained three bikes, a full set of winter tires, an assortment of gardening equipment, three ordinary muggle brooms, and two young wizards.

'Where are we?' Ron asked. Hermione had not explained where they were headed, and though he trusted her completely, it was rather strange to end up in somebody's garden shed without knowing where it was located.

'The garden shed of number 5 Orchard Avenue, Cambridge.'

'Cambridge?' Ron asked in surprise, 'Didn't you grow up in Cambridge?'

'Yes,' she said, her hand caressing the steering wheel of a girl's bike, 'This was my bike. I used it to travel to school. It was only a few blocks away, so after I became ten, my mother let me bike there on my own. I loved it.'

The bike was pink, a colour he did not associate with Hermione very often, and it had a chrome steering wheel. The handles were white. Hermione seemed to be lost in memory, one of her hands gripping a handle tightly, the other fingering a slight tear in the rubber of the seat.

'I was pushed off of my bike at school when this happened,' she said. Her voice had taken on an almost melancholic quality. 'I was teased relentlessly by three other girls. It was in the time when I knew nothing of magic. I knew I could do _things._ Strange things that happened without me actually being in control.'

'The magic was trying to get out. We all have it.'

'Yes,' she said, 'But back then, I didn't know that. All I knew was that I was an unpopular smart girl who freakish things happened to.'

'Hermione,' Ron said, 'Are you sure you want to visit your parents's house now? We can do this another time. Or I could hop in quickly, get some of your stuff.'

Hermione had to pry her eyes off of her old bike. She looked up at Ron, who stood only inches away from her. It was a rather small shed, and Ron had to bend down to keep from hitting his head. He was afraid that Hermione would be too emotional to be able to handle visiting the house of her parents. When she looked into his eyes though, he saw a grim determination there. One he had seen in her often before. She was dedicated to this, and he could detect in her resolute stare how sure she was of herself. He kissed her lips softly, a tender kiss that lasted for just a moment. She smiled at him afterwards.

'So long as you are here,' she said, 'I'll be fine.'

They entered the house a few minutes later. Hermione had hidden the key to the back door in a jar of screws and bolts in the shed. She had transfigured it into a screw with a scratch on the side. Ron was pretty sure none but the most powerful wizards would have been able to find it. The house was another story all together. She had placed several very powerful enchantments and ward on it. Ron recognised barely a handful of them. There was a nasty surprise waiting for anyone who entered the house without the key.

'Ron,' she said, as they entered the kitchen through the back door, 'Be careful. We don't know if anyone has been here.'

The kitchen seemed undisturbed. Her parents had left it completely cleaned, and apart from a layer of dust over the counters, it looked to be completely normal. Ron knew he should feel relaxed, that it indicated nobody had been here, but it only heightened his anxiety. What if the Death Eaters had wanted to make them feel like nothing was wrong. They had been fooled by them before. Ron had learned the hard way that the Death Eaters were anything but dumb. Not moving a foot from the floor mat, he checked the kitchen for anything suspicious. Everything looked to be in order; the dust on the kitchen surfaces was undisturbed, nothing seemed out of place or broken. Even the floor was pristine.

Ron felt Hermione relax beside him. She was about to step forward when he noticed that the floor was unnaturally pristine. It was spotless. The Burrow was cleaned every day by his mother, but even there, small specs of dust or crumbs of food were visible in hard-to-reach corners. This floor was so clean, you could eat off of it.

'Hermione, no!' he shouted, grabbing the back of her coat and one of her arms just as her feet fell through the floor as though it wasn't there. The mirage instantly dissolved, showing just how terribly the house had been ransacked. The entire kitchen floor had been stripped away and a deep hole was all that remained. The Death Eaters had intended to capture, not kill; the fall would not have killed them, but Ron was pretty sure they would have been trapped.

Hermione, finding her footing suddenly gone, could not prevent herself from falling in. She shrieked in surprise while Ron's iron grip on her coat and arm saved her from falling into the trap completely. Ron felt her weight pulling him down too, but he managed to keep from falling in after her by wrapping one of his feet under the pipes of a radiator, and frantically tried to hold her up. Hermione reached up to him with her free arm and managed to wrap it around his neck. Pulling with all his might, Ron dragged her back out from the pit.

Ron was panting. Hermione barely weighed seven stone, but pulling her back onto the floor mat had been excruciatingly difficult. It is surprisingly hard to keep the full weight of a human body up, even one as petite and fragile as Hermione. She was sobbing into his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around him and shaking softly. It took her more than a minute to stop crying, and over five minutes to lift her head from his neck and look into the trap she had nearly fallen into.

'The Death Eaters really made an effort here,' Ron said, as Hermione surveyed the damage. 'Look at how carefully they removed the floorboards. They even left the kitchen island standing on a pile of hard-packed earth. They must have been busy for days setting this trap. It looks like they didn't touch the rest of the house. Perhaps they were hoping we would let our guard down.'

'Yes,' Hermione said weakly, 'Did you see how detailed that mirage was? It takes a lot of time and skill to make a mirage look so convincing. It was almost identical to the original floor. I doubt Harry or I would have noticed it.'

'Question is,' Ron continued, as he pulled out his wand, 'who placed it here? And when?'

Quickly coming to the realization that they were like sitting ducks, sitting on the floor mat, Ron got up and pulled Hermione to her feet. They took out their wands, scanning their immediate surroundings. All seemed quiet.

'Homenum Reveilio' Ron said softly, casting the spell on both the house and the immediate surroundings. The house showed no signs of intruders, nor did the garden, the driveway, or the shed. The golden outline of a woman standing behind a fence became visible though. Ron lifted his wand, but Hermione pushed his hand down almost immediately.

'Hello Madam Burlington,' Hermione said loudly, 'The weather is nice today, don't you agree?'

The outline clearly stiffened a little before she replied. 'Err - Yes, lovely.' She was talking rather loudly, Ron thought, 'I swore I heard a scream just now. What did you say your name was?'

'I did not say my name,' Hermione replied, as she walked towards the wooden fence which separated the garden of the duplex house neatly down the middle. 'Do you recognise my voice perhaps?'

It was silent for a moment. Madam Burlington seemed to be thinking. 'I can't quite place it,' she half-shouted at Hermione, 'You sound like somebody from the neighbourhood, but I can't seem to find a name to connect to the voice. Are you called Horatio? No, that is a man's name. Hendrika?'

'Close,' Hermione said, and Ron knew what was about to happen. Hermione lifted her wand and performed a non-verbal obliviate. As the spell settled on its target, their bonded wands communicated her emotions to him. She was feeling anxious, and uncertain.

'The scream you heard came from Rodney Parssons room. That boy does always turn his television on loudly, doesn't he?'

'Yes', Madam Burlington replied meekly.

'I think it would be best if you return to your favourite chair by the window,' Hermione continued, 'Have a nice cup of tea. If you see or hear anybody coming to the neighbours's house, those are just men and women from a cleaning company. By the looks of it, the Grangers are coming back. Perhaps you should leave your hearing aide out for a while.'

'Good, I always did like the Grangers. Never turned the telly on loudly. Always polite. Sweet daughter.'

Ron could not suppress a grin after Madam Burlington had returned to her house. Hermione also smiled. 'Madam Burlington tends to forget to put in her hearing aide. I was surprised she heard me.'

'Well, you did produce a rather loud, girly shriek just now.'

'She will be on Rodney's case for at least a week,' Hermione said, ignoring Ron's jibe and smiling devilishly, 'He used to break my toys whenever he was around.'

They returned to the house. It was obvious that the Death Eaters had not risked putting any enchantments over the mirage to alert them if anybody fell into the pit. Ron figured they might have been afraid that the presence of such an enchantment would be detected. There was a six-pack of large water bottles in one of the corners of the pit.

'They probably stopped by to check the pit once or twice a week,' Ron said, 'This trap was very ingenious.'

Hermione brought a ladder that lay behind the shed, and Ron carefully positioned it horizontally over the trap so they could enter the living room without falling in. Carefully treading the spokes, Ron managed to reach the other side of the kitchen and enter the living room. It looked to be in normal order, but Ron would not take any chance. He carefully examined his immediate surroundings, while he heard Hermione make her way over from the other end of the ladder. When she reached him, she performed a number of charms and spells to reveal magic, but none of them showed anything was present. As always, Ron could listen in on Hermione's emotions. She was clearly anxious and uncertain. By the time she cast the last spell, he could also feel a bit of relief.

Hermione made to move forward, but Ron cut into her path, keeping her behind himself. He had nearly let her tumble into a trap once before, he was not going to do so again. The living room was untouched. With all of the furniture removed it felt like a big empty box. The sounds of their shoes hitting the wooden floor as they moved around resounded hollowly from the walls. Faint outlines of furniture and paintings were visible on them. Ron thought the place looked both deserted and desolate.

'Let's check upstairs,' he said, still keeping Hermione behind him. He could sense her irritation as he did. He knew she would be mad at him for a while, but didn't really care. He would not allow Hermione to come to any harm; if anything else was waiting for them, Ron would make sure she would be safe.

Hermione pointed her wand at the stairs, and performed some counter-curses to see if anything would happen. Ron could feel the irritation with him that he had expected. He also felt a very strong surge of pride. Meanwhile, none of the spells hit a target. The stairs looked to be safe. He ascended it slowly. The first floor landing was quite large and looked perfectly normal. There were outlines of picture frames here too. The carpet was in a desperate need of some cleaning. Hermione reached out to one of the doors, but Ron made sure his hand was the first to connect to the doorknob. Hermione nearly hissed in frustration, but Ron gently pushed her out of the way, carefully opening the door.

It was Hermione's room. Ron had never been here before, though he had often wondered what it would look like. The walls were painted in a gentle blue colour that reinforced the orderly nature of the room. Everything was neat and tidy, from the orderly rows of books (alphabetically ordered by the looks of it) to the half opened closet, from which Ron could see hung an assortment of clothes. Even that looked ordered, though one of the jeans had fallen from its hanger. Hermione had told him she had left her room mostly the same as it always was. She had taken a few books, some clothing, a few quills and rolls of parchment, but she had left nearly everything else behind.

Hermione had confided to him how much she regretted not taking a picture of her parents with her. It had been a few weeks after their capture at Malfoy manor. Whatever grudges and bitterness had been between them up till that point had been completely wiped away by the events that night. Ron had found himself seeking her out night and day, never wanting to be apart from her for too long. Harry spent most of his time brooding over his plans, either discussing them with Griphook or alone at the grave of Dobby. Hermione had become something Ron had never seen in her before; weak. He helped her whenever he could, even going as far as sitting by her bedside whenever she went to sleep, much to the protests of Bill and Fleur. Fleur was especially insistent, arguing the case heatedly until Hermione (who had spoken barely a five words up to that point) ordered her out of her room.

After that, Hermione's silence was broken. In the course of a week, Ron learned most of what had happened between her and Bellatrix. He listened to her, rubbed her back while she cried against his shoulder, and made small-talk to put her mind at rest before she went to sleep.

Hermione performed another set of spells to detect magic. Several things happened at once. In the corner of her room stood a desk. On the desk were several pictures, and three of those suddenly caught flame. The pair of jeans on the bottom of the closet got up on its own, and leaped over the bed. It bounded once off the floor and flew directly at Hermione, who was caught in utter surprise. Ron quickly pointed his wand up, yelling "Reducto!". The denim pants flew apart harmlessly. Ron prodded its remains while Hermione quickly doused the flames that were beginning to lap up from the desk.

'W-What?' Ron said, completely dumbstruck.

'Those pants would have strangled me if I had touched them,' Hermione said while she surveyed the damage to the desk, 'And there was a very dark curse on these pictures.'

'Let's not tempt fate again,' Ron said, 'I think it would be best if we apparate directly back to the Burrow, and inform my parents. We can let the ministry check out the rest of the house.'

Hermione nodded, but did not speak. Her hands gripped the desk tightly. Ron approached her gingerly. He noticed how her shoulders were shaking, and how her head was bowed down. Her thick hair had poured down from her shoulders onto the desk, the tips brushing the wooden surface.

'Hermione,' Ron whispered when he stood directly behind her, 'Hermione, it's going to be all right. We're going to find them.' Her breathing was ragged. 'Hermione, trust me. We're going to find them alive and well.' He could hear her crying now, even though her face was blocked by a curtain of her brown hair. Her fingers gripped the desk forcefully. 'Hermione,' he whispered, hoping her name would calm her, 'We'll find your parents.'

Suddenly, one of her hands reached up and wiped the tears from her face. Taking a few deep breaths, she straightened and reached out to pick up one of the photo frames. Then, she turned to the bed and together, they sat down. Ron looked at her to find her eyes bloodshot. Not knowing what to say and what to do, he sat in silence beside her. Hermione cradled the frame in her hands for what felt like an eternity, her thumbs running over the outline of her parents.

It was a nice picture. Ron still needed to get used to seeing pictures that didn't move. It was like watching a paused movie. Hermione's father was a physically rather unimposing man. He was short, much like Harry was, but where Harry's hair was unruly and thick, his was neat and thinning. His glasses completed the slightly diminutive sight of him. Ron had spoken to him once or twice, and he knew her father was surprisingly different from how he looked. Hermione had told him her father was quite present during parties and conversations. She had also told him that her father was a black belt at judo, which apparently was a martial art. Ron had heard about martial arts during his career advice with McGonagall. Auror training consisted of mastering at least one style of martial arts.

Hermione's mother was quite different. Though more than twice his age when this picture was taken, she was still very pretty. Like Hermione, her beauty was neither classical or outspoken. She shone with a youthfulness and kindness that were far more attractive than her smooth skin or dark eyes. Ron felt oddly conflicted about thinking of Hermione's mother like this.

'I'm sure they will fall into your arms the moment you lift their charm,' he said, unsure if this was what Hermione would want to hear. Her thumb still caressed the picture frame. 'You saved their lives.'

Hermione turned to face him and planted a soft, ginger kiss on his cheek.

'Thank you, Ron,' she said, 'For being such an optimist. I know I can get a little depressed or negative about things. You always help me to find the silver lining.'

Ron fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. He didn't quite know how to react. Should he tell her he loved her? Was that appropriate? Still not knowing what to say, he merely planted a kiss of his own on her cheek. 'No problem. Let's go. The ministry can go fix your parents's kitchen.'

He got up from the bed and turned to Hermione. Extending his hand, he offered to help her up. Looking quite pleased with herself, she took his hand.

'My, look at you,' she said, 'How gallant.'

Ron could not suppress a smile, then said: 'I'm just trying to get you to my own room as fast as possible.' Hermione gave him a genuine smile which reminded him strikingly of the image of her mother in the picture. Then, she tapped down hard on his cap, causing it shift low over his eyes.


	7. Chapter 7

Upon returning to the Burrow, Ron sent out a message to his father at the ministry to inform him of what they had encountered at Hermione's parents's house. They were in his room on the attic when Pig returned not an hour later. Excited as always to deliver a letter, he buzzed around them frantically. It was not until Hermione had coaxed him down with some owl treats that they were able to extract his father's lengthy reply.

_Dear Ron and Hermione,_

_Let me begin by expressing my relief that you are both alright! Judging from your description, you were very lucky to keep Hermione from falling into that pit. You showed a keen insight by performing those counter-curses, which have probably saved your life._

_Nevertheless, I feel the need to tell you that you took a very significant risk today. Not informing us of your plans could have led to disastrous results! What if, for example, you had fallen into that pit, and were unable to get out and communicate with us. It might have taken us a long time to locate you at Hermione's parents's house. Had you touched the cursed picture frames, things would have been far worse. I need not remind you of Katie Bell's lengthy stay at St. Mungo's…_

_I can assure you that the ministry is right on top of this situation. Your names are known throughout all of wizarding Britain, and the mere mention that Hermione's parents's house was ransacked by the Death Eaters led to a flood of volunteers. We have already dispatched a team of specialized ministry officials. They are led by an auror I personally advised for the job, and which I know can be trusted. The kitchen floor will be restored to its original state before the day is over, and I'm sure they will check and double check every item that remains in the house for dark magic. _

_Again, I am very relieved that you are both okay. I think it is safe to say that you have saved your parents's life, Hermione, by sending them off. I am not sure if sending your parents to a safe location or placing the Fidelius charm on the house would have been enough. Judging by the amount of effort they have put into it, I think the Death Eaters would have certainly found out about the house._

_Ps: Hermione, please wait until after I return from work to collect any clothing you need for the trip. Molly will accompany you. Ron, I am very proud of you, son._

_Dad._

Hermione was visibly relieved to read that the damage to the kitchen would be fixed. She had been worried about her parents returning to find their house half-destroyed. His father's opinion about how Hermione's charm had kept her parents alive was also received well. Hermione had stood beside him as they read the letter, her left side brushing against his right side. She read through the letter in half the time he needed. Resting her head against his shoulder, she exhaled deeply.

'All this time, up to today, I wondered if my decision to modify my parents's memory was right,' she said. 'I kept wondering if I should not have done something else, like asking them to go into hiding at a friend's house, or even here, at the Burrow.'

'You saved their lives, Hermione,' Ron said, his arm wrapping around her shoulder and pulling her close, 'You saved them.'

An hour later, Hermione had laid out all of his new clothes on the bed. Then, she had proceeded to clean out his wardrobe. He had been shocked to see just how many of his clothes were too small or too frayed to be worn. At least four big bags of clothes (some containing clothes from his first year at Hogwarts) were removed. None of the Weasley sweaters were going to be tossed out though, and when asked, Hermione merely said that she felt it would be like throwing away a bit of Ron himself. He had no idea what she meant by it.

After clearing out the wardrobe, and hanging out the remainder of his clothes, she perched down on the edge of Ron's bed. They surveyed the damage; four large bags of discarded clothes, and a half-filled wardrobe. He now had less clothes than he'd had with him last year. Everything lay in neatly ordered stacks. None of those were very large, save for the stack of Weasley sweaters. He took out one of them. Judging by the size of them, it was from his fifth year. He handed it to her.

'I want you to have this one,' he said, 'I think it would look nice on you.'

'A- A weasley sweater?' she said, 'Are you sure?'

'Yes,' he said, 'It certainly won't fit me, and I think you deserve to have one as much as Harry does.'

Held it out in front of her, appraising the size of it. Then, she ran the fabric through her slender fingers, rolling the end of one of the sleeves between her thumb and index finger. Taking off the blouse she had been wearing all day, Ron gulped. He wondered if it would ever feel normal to see her shedding clothes. Hermione stuck her arms through the sleeves, then pulled the shirt over her head. It was only four sizes too large for her. Her hands were half covered by the ends of the sleeves, though the shirt fit snugly around her body. It ended just above her knees. Seeing her wearing a shirt with his initial on it felt oddly like he had claimed her in some way. He could tell she liked the present.

'I love it, Ron,' she said. She got up from the bed and walked up to him. She kissed him on the lips, standing on tip-toes to reach them.

Kissing her still felt strange and exciting to Ron. They had been friends for seven years, and he had been in love with her for at least three of those. Kissing her was surreal, like he was in an alternate universe. They had been together for just a few weeks, and though they had kissed on numerous occasions by now, there was always a nagging thought in his head making him think: 'This is Hermione Granger. You are kissing Hermione Granger!'

He felt her arms wrap curve around his back, sliding up to his shoulders. Ron placed his hands on the small of her back, pulling her in against himself. He relished the feel of her body against his, of her warmth, and of her smell. On a whim, he let his hands slide down slowly. Clearing her lower back, he felt the transition from the harder tissue of her holy bone, to the softer slopes of her ass. Hermione didn't seem to mind. Quite the contrary: one of her hands snaked up to his neck and pulled him down further, her tongue eagerly exploring his mouth.

They stood like that for a minute, until Ron's back and neck started protesting. Ron moved to sit on the edge of the bed, and Hermione followed him, their lips not breaking from each other. Ron sat down slowly, pulling Hermione onto his lap. Seated like this, Hermione was face-to-face with him, and kissing her felt more relaxed. Her arms circled around his neck, as if she was afraid that Ron would slip away. Ron, meanwhile, pulled her up closer to his body, one hand placed onto her ass while another rubbed the side of her waist.

They spent fifteen minutes kissing like that. For fifteen minutes, Ron was able to hold her close against him. Their tongues did not break apart for more than a minute at a time, sometimes to whisper sweet nothings to each other, sometimes to nibble an earlobe or to just look into each other's eyes. Then, his mother called from below, ordering everybody down for dinner.

Hermione and Ron reluctantly departed his room. When they arrived downstairs Ron saw that the entire family was already present. George looked up from his plate, and an evil smirk spread on his face. Ron knew only trouble could come from that.

'So Hermione,' he said with a raised voice, instantly silencing everyone else, 'What does the R stand for?' Everyone turned to face Hermione. Without waiting for an answer, George started to submit suggestions. 'Romance? Ready?' He wiggled his eyebrows. 'Raunchy?'

'That will be more than enough from you, George,' his mother said loudly, 'Hermione dear, please sit down.' Before she did, she turned to George.

'Ron,' she said simply, and then pulled her chair back and sat down smartly. George eyed her in surprise for a moment, then switched his gaze to Ron. He raised an eyebrow.

'I wouldn't raise that eyebrow too high, brother,' Ron said coolly, drawing the chair next to Hermione's back, 'Your face is lopsided enough as it is.'

Dinner continued as it always did at the Burrow. George turned to look at Hermione imploringly every time a noun with starting with an R was spoken. Hermione soon stopped reacting to it, even though Harry and Ginny were deliberately dropping more and more ambiguous ones as time progressed. Harry had just commented on how he felt the pudding was 'ravashingly delicious' (George instantly craned his face to Hermione, who silently ate a small bite of yoghurt) when his father cleared his throat.

'Hermione,' he said gravely, 'Peakes from the Auror office has informed me that the team investigating your parents's house are finished. They were able to repair the damaged kitchen, though they had to install new floorboards. The old ones had been destroyed. They also checked for dark magic, but could not find anything new. They are quite confident that the place is safe, and they have added a few protective enchantments on the house for good measure.'

'Thank you, mister Weasley,' Hermione responded.

'I would like to suggest that you head over there this evening to get the last of your stuff from your room. Molly will accompany you. Should there be any sort of trouble, you won't have to face it alone.'

'I could join her,' Ron said, feeling a bit hurt, 'I'm more than capable of protecting her.'

'No Ron,' his father said, 'Your plane will depart early in the morning. Am I right in assuming you have not yet bothered to pack your backpack?' Ron muttered something non-committal. 'I want you to start packing right after dinner. You two have to get up really early tomorrow, and I won't have the usual pre-Hogwarts mayhem we usually have with you lot.'

'Thank you, mister Weasley,' Hermione said, 'for all of the trouble you went through.'

'If you are going to be walking around in a Weasley sweater, Hermione, at least start calling me Arthur.'

Ron did as he was told. After Hermione had left with his mother, he raced up the stairs to go and fill up his backpack. Like Hermione's beaded bag, it too was enlarged. He had done it himself, and though his spell had been a lot less effective as hers had been, it still made a bit more room for a couple of items one normally didn't carry around in a backpack. Hermione had already set aside many of the items that they would need for the trip, starting with his brother's tent, a set of books about Australia, and a large pile of clothes. Ron took out his wand and gave it an absent twirl. The tent flew up into the air and fitted itself nicely into the bottom of his backpack. He did the same for several other items.

After a few minutes, Ron picked up the bag, guessing it's weight. It was already quite heavy, though it hardly compared to what it had weighed a few months before. Ron suddenly felt a bit melancholic. He set the bag back down onto the ground and pointed his wand towards his wardrobe. He didn't really need that many clothes (he expected they would be done in less than a week), but packed them none the less. It felt oddly the same as a year before. Hermione had packed their stuff right before the wedding, which was naturally a brilliant move. Though she had packed a couple of his older pants, she had done an incredible job preparing for their trip. He wondered if she had been standing like he had, going through his clothes, judging if they would be needed for the trip.

Then, under the influence of the locket, he had left them. He had taken his backpack, but it hardly contained half his stuff. Not that he owned anything useful other than clothing, he thought bitterly. Ron had crashed at Shell Cottage, spending his time locked in his room, thinking of how he would ever be able to join them. Wondering if he would even be able to join them again.

He had gone over it a hundred times, checking to see if everything he needed was there. He kept his bag packed, even though he had an empty wardrobe in his room. Every time he lost hope in re-joining Harry and Hermione, something had kept him from emptying it out. It was the memory of Hermione, telling them she had already packed everything in that ruddy brilliant beaded bag of hers. That memory had caused his hope to rekindle on more than one occasion. It made him dump the contents of his bag on his bed. He would refold every bit of clothing. He would count the number of socks. He would run his hands over the small foldable trowel he had nicked from Fleur's garden when she wasn't looking. Then, he would proceed to pack everything again, carefully arranging everything as he had done before.

Hearing Hermione speak his name had been nothing short of incredible. He had hardly felt in the mood to join the Christmas celebrations downstairs, and so had spent most of his time holed up in his room feeling gloomy and depressed. Like so many mornings after his departure, Ron had awoken at the crack of dawn. He didn't know why, but it gave him the opportunity to tune into the wizarding news very early on, and that was exactly what he was doing when he heard her.

He had let the radio drop from his hands, and had turned to face the door, half-expecting to see her there. Then, he heard it again, clearly coming from the deluminator in his pocket. If the memory of Hermione telling him of her preparations had relit his hope, this had filled his heart with a blazing fire! He had scribbled a hasty note to Bill and Fleur, explaining his sudden absence, and flew out of the door within a minute, confident that everything he needed was safely in his backpack.

Harry stopped by just after Ron finished filling the backpack. There was enough room left for Hermione to add several complete outfits if she wanted to.

'So,' Harry said, 'Looking forward to the next big adventure?'

Ron smiled, but assured him it would hardly be much of an adventure. 'We will be flying in an airplane almost twenty-four hours,' Ron said, 'Have you ever seen me sit still for just twenty-four minutes?' Harry gave an honest chuckle.

'Listen,' Harry said, 'I know I haven't really been around a lot lately. I don't want you two to think I'm doing that on purpose. If Hermione wants me to come with, I'll do that, but I'd rather stay here for a while.'

'Harry, you don't have to-' Ron said, but Harry just continued, his hands fidgeting with the edge of his bedspread.

'I just need some space, you know? I need some time to go over what happened these past few years. I need to find myself.'

'Harry,' Ron tried again.

'You understand, right? I'm sure Hermione would too-'

'HARRY!' Ron said, lifting the volume of his voice up to something close to shouting, 'We understand.' Harry looked at him a bit doubtful. 'We understand that you don't want to be around us right now. You've been around us for an entire year, mate. I think we can make do without you for a little while.'

Harry got up and smiled at him, then pulled him into a brotherly hug. It was rather uncharacteristic for Harry to display such an overt sign of friendship; he had always been more reserved. Ron returned the hug, patting him on the back, and feeling a bit awkward. They talked for a while, and Harry told Ron that he had felt a bit guilty for not hanging out with them more. He spent most of his time with Ginny.

'You wouldn't believe how long it takes to get through all the things that happened last year,' Harry said, 'I've only just started with everything that's happened after getting the locket at the ministry.'

'Wow,' Ron said, 'You've been talking to her for three weeks, and you haven't even gotten close to the end.'

'Well,' said Harry, 'We don't spend our time together just talking. And don't forget that I also had to explain about the prophesy and the Horcruxes. About my connection with Voldemort, everything that happened in our sixth year. It's not something you can explain in a couple of minutes, mate.'

Ron nodded, but made no comment. He thought about how Ginny didn't know most of the things Ron had taken for granted. Harry had only confided these things to Hermione and him, and it was easy to forget that nearly nobody else knew what exactly had happened.

Hermione arrived back from her parents's house a little over an hour after she had left. Ron had wandered around the house a little with Harry, checking to see if he could find anything useful to take with him to Australia. They had added a first aid kit and some packs of crisps, just in case they had a minor accident or couldn't find something to eat. Harry had pointed out that Australia also had supermarkets and restaurants, but Ron packed them anyways.

Hermione had come back to the Burrow with a couple of shirts, pants and sweaters, and a small plastic bag containing what Ron assumed were knickers and bras. Together, they went up to his room, where she neatly packed them into the backpack, then turned to face Ron. She took out her wand and closed the door.

'You were doing magic,' she whispered, 'I could listen in.'

'All the way from Cambridge? That's over a hundred miles from here.'

'Yes,' she said, 'And it felt the same way it always feels. You were going through quite a range of emotions.'

Ron thought back at what he had been thinking of when he had been using magic this evening. Most of it had been about his time away from Harry and Hermione last winter. 'Packing this backpack just brought me back down memory lane. I'm sorry if I made you feel sad too.'

'That's all right,' she said, resting her hand on his chest, 'We'll have to get used to listening in on each other's feelings. I think your mum thought I was just emotional with going back into my parents's house.'

'How was it?' Ron asked, remembering chapter nine of "Twelve Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches", called "Be interested!".

'It would have been fine, had I not had the occasional upwelling of melloncolly or guilt,' she said, a bit of a smile playing on her lips.

'Yeah, sorry about that.'

'Don't be. I told you, we're going to have to get used to it. Besides, you told me often enough that you felt really bad about leaving us back then, but listening in your emotions… it really says a lot more than words ever could.'


	8. Chapter 8

**A small author's note to begin with: Firstly, I would like to thank everyone faithfully following and reading the story. I hope everyone is enjoying it. Please don't shy away from leaving (lengthy) reviews. I want to know what parts of the story you like, and what parts you don't like. **

**Lastly: I have been writing a next-generation fic that is seeing very low traffic. It is called "The White Tomb Wizards: Ankh of Escariot". It would really make my day if you guys would read a part of it and tell me what you think about it.**

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Ron went to sleep early that night, and so did Hermione. Their alarm clocks were set for three thirty, which was at least seven hours too early in Ron's opinion. His hand groped for it wildly when it started beeping. His dreams had been very confusing. He had been standing with Harry in front of a ruined building, from which an old woman came that turned into a giant snake. The dream had then changed quite abruptly into a scene where he was walking through a forest calling out after Hermione. He had found her tangled in an enormous spider web. He was about to help her down when he saw a set of eight eyes looking at him from the canopy. Luckily, the alarm clock had chosen just that moment to wake up him.

'Turn it off already!' Harry mumbled from his camp bed, pushing his pillow over ears to muffle the sound.

Ron forced his eyes open and batted the alarm clock from his night stand. It zoomed across the room and hit the wall, from which it bounced off to thud dully onto the floorboards of his room. Upstairs, the ghoul rattled some of the pipes.

'Piss off, you foul-smelling corpse,' Ron muttered, rolling over on his other side. He was about to close his eyes again when he realized that he was going to travel to Australia with Hermione.

It had taken most of his willpower to get out of bed, and he sleepily descended the staircase to enter the bathroom. A cold shower might just wake him up enough to get through breakfast. He also needed to take a leak. Arriving at the bathroom, he found it occupied.

'Isn't that just great,' he thought, 'I guess I'll eat a piece of toast while I wait for it to free up.'

His mum was already up. She looked up at him as he descended the stairs.

'Ron, you are up!' she said, a considerable amount of surprise in her voice, 'I had expected you to oversleep. Let me make you a nice breakfast.'

A minute later, Ron was staring at two corned beef sandwiches.

The shower switched off a few minutes after he had finished his breakfast. Ron really needed to take a piss by now, and he made off to the bathroom at double time. The door was still locked.

'Whoever is in there, please hurry up!' he said, rapping his knuckles across the door, 'I need to use the can.'

The door opened a minute later. Hermione popped out, her hair bundled in a white cotton towel. 'Always the charmer, aren't you?' she said, a smile playing on her lips.

For a split second, Ron took in the sight of Hermione in front of him. She was pink from showering, a couple of drops of water clinging to her neck and behind her ear. She wore no make-up, which was not unusual for her, but the pink colouring of her cheeks concealed the paleness of her face just as effectively. She was wearing his Weasley sweater again. Her legs, covered in her pyjama bottoms, stuck out from it. She pecked him on his cheek, then headed off to Ginny's room.

Time seemed to go faster and faster. Before he knew it, Ron was standing in front of the parents's fireplace, watching his father disappear ahead of them, Ron's heavy backpack lodged between his legs. Hermione was next. After taking a carefully measured amount of floo powder, she stepped into the emerald flames, clearly stating "Heathrow Airport, wizard entrance, departures". She spun around twice before she was lost in the flames.

Most of the family members had decided to sleep in. Having said their goodbyes the evening before, his brothers and sister had all wished them good luck. Harry had come down a few minutes ago. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and his hair was more ruffled and unruly than Ron had ever seen it. He stifled a yawn. Hermione had hugged him, ordering him to take rest and not to fret too much. He had half-heartedly replied. He had simply given Ron a pat on the back, though Ron had not expected another hug like the night before.

'Go on, Ronald,' his mum said, pushing him ahead. He took a handful of floo powder and cast it into the fire. It turned green instantly. Clearly stating his intended destination, Ron felt himself zoom past many different fireplaces before coming to a halt in a small room. His father was loading the backpack onto a trolley. Hermione stood beside him.

He quickly vacated the fireplace, knowing his mother would arrive soon. Brushing off a bit of soot from his clothes, he heard a woman's voice coming from the ceiling.

'Mister VanDerKamp heading to Amsterdam,' it said, 'Please proceed to gate twelve. You are delaying the flight.'

Ron walked to the trolley, taking the handles in hand and driving it around a little. He could hardly feel the backpack's weight. His mother appeared, and after brushing a speck of soot from her robes, she strode over to Ron and Hermione. 'Where to now?' It was obvious she didn't quite know where to go.

Hermione combed through some papers, then told them they would have to go to terminal five. She set of at a brisk pace, Ron walking next to her, one step behind, and his parents following them a few feet behind. Hermione seemed to know where she was going, and indeed managed to steer them directly to the correct counter. While they waited in line for the baggage check-in, Hermione told them she had been here quite a few times in the past, when her parents would take her on a vacation.

'I'm not sure if I would prefer this to using a portkey,' his father said quietly, 'There seems to be a lot of waiting involved.'

'Yes,' Hermione said, 'Our plane doesn't leave until just over three hours from now.'

'You mean we could have gotten up three whole hours later?' Ron asked.

'No, Ron,' Hermione assured him, 'Check-in stops two hours in advance. They have to get the luggage into the plane first. Then, there is the business of loading the passengers in. It's not as quick as you would think.'

Ron wondered for a moment why it would take two hours just to get some luggage in an airplane. Having learned not to ask too many questions about muggles, Ron mulled it over for a moment and came to the logical conclusion that they did not have house elves or magic to transport the luggage. He bent towards Hermione, afraid that the question he was about to ask would be stupid.

'Do muggles move all these bags on their own?' It seemed improbable. There had to be a hundred people checking in baggage at the same time. Even if a single muggle could transport ten pieces of luggage at the same time, that would mean there had to be hundreds of them walking around at the same time.

'No, Ron,' Hermione said, 'They have an automated system for that. For each bag they register what plane it has to go to. A system of conveyor belts takes the luggage to a big cart, which is driven to the airplane. It is loaded in by two people.'

Ron pondered this for a moment. The suitcase of an elderly man was on its way from the check-in counter to a hole behind one of the desks. There, it fell onto another belt, which took the bag down under ground. For a moment, he imagined a large web of these belt stretching out all over the airport. It seemed almost impossible.

Hermione took care of checking in. She showed the lady behind the counter their passports (his father had spent several hours looking for it until his mother gave up and summoned them. _Accio passports!_) and she asked if they would have window seats. This seemed to cause a bit of distress with the stewardess, who did not seem to be able to tell if their seats were window or aisle seats. She became even more distressed when the boarding passes were printed, and their seat numbers turned out to be -1a and -1b.

Ron and Hermione walked up to the customs entrance, where Hermione suddenly stopped. 'This is as far as you will be allowed to follow us, mr. and mrs. Weasley. We're going to have to say our goodbyes now.'

His mother was highly offended that they would not be allowed to join them to the gate, but bade them a very warm goodbye, fussing over Hermione, and hugging Ron tightly. Before she let go, she reminded him of his promise in a stern whisper.

'Yes, mum, I remember.'

'Good,' she replied, while Hermione observed them with a raised eyebrow, 'Well, good luck. Don't forget to write!'

Together, Ron and Hermione joined the queue for the customs check. It was a minor inconvenience. The metal detector went haywire when Ron stepped through (he had carefully placed any iron items in a basket as per Hermione's instructions). A grumpy security guard walked up to him carrying a long pointed device, but an elderly man that was clearly his superior brushed him off.

'Don't worry, mister Weasley,' he said, 'Sensitive equipment like that tends to go off when a wizard passes through.'

Ron eyed the man suspiciously. He had absolutely no recollection of having met this man before.

'I'm a squib,' he said, 'And you are right famous. I saw your faces on a picture on the Daily Prophet. Now move along please.'

He turned off the machine temporarily so Hermione could pass through. They quickly collected their belongings. Ron looked back. His parents were just visible from behind the queue of travellers. He waved them goodbye one last time.

Hermione guided Ron around the airport, looking for their gate. It turned out to be at quite a distance from customs, and they passed a few shops as they moved. Ron saw Hermione looking ruefully at a perfume shop. Hermione had spent nearly all of her savings last year. They had been given some money by his parents, but it was not much, and they would need it for food and lodging in Australia. He was unable to keep her from entering a bookstore though. She didn't buy anything, but spent quite a while fingering through popular literature.

'Just buy it, Hermione,' Ron said, after Hermione had picked up the same book for the second time, clearly interested, 'We'll just limit the amount of five-course meals in fancy restaurants.'

'You are trying to spoil me,' she said with a smile.

'No, just trying to butter you up,' he said with a grin.

Hermione stretched out and kissed his cheek. 'It's working.'

They passed a candy store a little while after that. Hermione insisted on buying a triangular piece of chocolate she claimed he would love. It was quite pricey, but she would not budge.

An hour later, Ron was standing in front of a glass wall overlooking their airplane. Their flight would not leave for some time, but boarding would commence in ten minutes. Ron wondered if their luggage was already on the plane. He had seen a man arrive driving what looked like a train on wheels, trailing a large amount of carriages filled with luggage. Most of that luggage had been loaded into the airplane by another machine that had a long platform it could raise up.

Ron turned around and saw Hermione looking at him. She had admonished him for wanting to try the triangular chocolate, telling him it was for the trip.

'What?' he said innocently.

'Nothing. I was just wondering what you were thinking.'

Her crossed over to her to plant a kiss on her lips. She was obviously embarrassed, because she turned a little pink and ended the kiss as soon as it had good and well started.

'Not here,' she whispered, patting the chair next to her to invite him to sit down.

'I was wondering how many passengers were on this flight.'

Hermione quickly surveyed their surroundings. The waiting area was completely filled with passengers. They were sandwiched between an elderly couple on the left, and a rather corpulent woman on the right of them.

'Quite a few, I reckon,' Ron said, draping an arm around her, 'There have to be at least-'

'Ladies and gentlemen,' a voice suddenly called, 'We have begun boarding for flight CPA 256 to Darwin. We are at this time boarding all business class passengers from row numbers -1 to 15.'

None of the other passengers seemed to notice the odd row number, but Ron had the sneaking suspicion that none of them had actually heard it. Hermione got up and extracted their boarding passes from her new green bag. She handed one to Ron. Together, they approached the counter. The other passengers were mostly businessmen, though there was a family too.

The stewardess glanced at their tickets for a moment when they handed them to her, then inserted the passes in a machine. She was a young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties. Her hair was in a tight bun. She was wearing a form fitting black airport outfit, quite different from the other stewardesses, which were all wearing the same bright red outfit. A green light lit up as the boarding passes popped up out of another opening located at the top of the machine.

'Everything looks in order,' she said, handing the tickets back to them. 'Follow me please.'

Another stewardess took over operating the machine, while they walked after her. She entered the long metal tube that led to the entrance of the plane.

'The other passengers might notice your seats,' she said as she continued to walk at a brisk pace, 'but they won't be able to focus on them very well. The flight crew will service you as they do the rest of the plane, but try not to call them over too often. It… confuses them a little.'

They stepped into the airplane through a door. Ron had to duck a little to keep from hitting his head. There were more stewards and stewardesses standing inside the plane. Each of them welcomed them aboard.

Hermione and Ron were guided to the right, away from the nose of the plane. There, at the very front of the plane, was row -1. It consisted of two very comfortable-looking chairs, facing a very large television screen.

'I would like to ask you to refrain from using magic in-flight. It messes with the flight equipment and instruments. Also, apparation is forbidden.' Hermione and Ron looked at each other in slight confusion. 'The crew will freak out if two passengers suddenly disappear in mid-air. All of the rules for muggles apply for the both of you as well obviously. I wish you a very pleasant flight.'

An hour into the flight, Ron began to feel bored. Hermione was reading from her new book, and though Ron had brought a quidditch magazine with him, he didn't really feel like taking it out. The movie playing from the television wasn't very interesting. There were headphones to listen to music, but none of it really was Ron's taste. He had been eating the chocolate, but Hermione refused him near it after he had eaten several large pieces of it within ten minutes. It had been as delicious as she had told him it would be.

Ron glanced to his right. Hermione was comfortably perched on her chair, the book grasped tightly into her experienced hands. Her eyes were moving rapidly over the pages. Ron thought she looked a little stronger than a week ago. Her cheeks were less sunken, and the dark rings beneath her eyes (which had appeared since their arrival at Shell Cottage) were diminishing slightly. She flipped one of the pages. It was a well-practiced movement, which reminded him strongly of the Hermione he had studied for years at Hogwarts. Glancing at her whenever she wasn't looking, Ron had observed her little habits and quirks whenever they were sitting in the common room, or during classes.

'Good book?' he asked.

'Very,' she replied, unwilling to tear her eyes from the page.

'What is it about?'

'A jury in a court of law,' she said absently. Her brow furrowed; she was obviously interrupted by his questions, 'They have to give a verdict about case against a tobacco company.'

'Is it fiction?'

'Yes.' She was definitely distracted now, and her eyes scanned the page to find where she was.

'Tobacco is in cigarettes, right? I think Harry said that once.'

She didn't reply immediately, but stuck her thumb onto one of the pages and closed the book. She turned to him.

'Are you bored?' she asked irritably.

'Yes,' Ron admitted.

'I noticed.'

'Can't we do something together?'

'Like what?' she said.

'A game of exploding snap?' he tried.

'You want to play a game of exploding snap in a plane full of muggles?'

'No,' he said quickly, a grin on his face, 'If you say it like that, it sounds like a pretty bad idea.'

'Anything else?'

'Not that I can think of.'

'In that case, I'm going to continue reading my book, Ronald.'

A half an hour passed. Ron was flipping through the radio channels that were available. None of them played any interesting music. He wondered what music Hermione liked. He had spent most of the past thirty minutes watching her. She was engrossed in her book, and making good progress too. She was already past a third of the book.

Ron realized this was the first time they were alone together for very long time. They had travelled with Harry for a year. After that, they had been at the Burrow. Though they had been able to steal away some private time, there would always be someone around the corner, or barging in at an inopportune moment. They had been buying clothes together, but the shopping centre had been packed with muggles.

He wondered what being alone with Hermione like this would be like. They had done things together before; without Harry. He remembered the trip to Hogsmeade for their apparation practice very well. He had (very cautiously) tried flirting with her then, even though Lavender was still technically his girlfriend. He had complimented her a few times, and offered to pay for her drinks. She had accepted on both accounts, and told him she could borrow her potions essay that evening, which had been the first time in many months that she had allowed him to.

Still, this would not be the same. Hermione was his girlfriend now, and that was bound to change the way they talked and acted around each other. It was like the first day after the war. He had been sitting with her at the breakfast table, looking at her enjoying a nice pudding when she looked up at him. Both of them glanced away automatically, but then Ron realized he no longer needed to. It had taken over a week to get used to it; to _not_ look away from her.

Hermione sighed deeply and closed her book.

'Yes, Ron?' she said a little wearily.

'You don't have to stop reading on my behalf,' Ron said. 'I was just sitting here.'

'You were staring at me.'

'I was thinking.'

'About what?'

'About what it would be like to be with you like we are now. Just the two of us. No parents. No relatives. No friends. No Harry. Just you and me.'

Hermione was quiet for a little while. She turned to face him, looking directly into his eyes. Her lovely brown eyes lingered there for a moment. 'It'll just be like always, I guess.'

'No, it won't,' Ron said, 'Not exactly anyways.'

'What do you mean?'

'This,' he said, swooping in to plant a kiss on her lips. He gently sucked on her lower lip of a moment. When they parted, he noticed that her bottom lip was notably fuller. 'I just wonder what it will be like.'

'I'm not a completely different person now, Ron,' she said, blushing slightly, 'And neither are you.'

'No,' he said, 'But there's no more war. No more school. I know I love you-'

Ron paused for just moment, making note to himself of how he had used the word love. He had said it before, but it remained weird to be able to say it out loud.

'-but I just hope we'll- That we're not-'

Hermione placed a hand on his. 'I think I understand what you are trying to say,' she said, 'You're afraid that we won't be the same now that Voldemort is dead and we don't have any distractions.'

'Yeah,' he said, though he thought it sounded a bit lame like that.

'Do you feel different about me now?' she asked. Her voice was not accusatory or insecure. It was just a question, and he was sure she knew the answer to it.

'No,' he said simply, 'And neither do you, right?'

She smiled and kissed him on his check as an answer.

An hour later, Ron was engaged in an interesting game of questions with Hermione. They had talked for a while about everything that had happened. When Hermione told him how she had modified her parents's memories, he had remarked how little details they knew of each other's past. Hermione had told him he could ask her anything. Since then, they had been asking each other questions in turn.

'Favourite music?' she asked.

'Not sure,' he replied, 'I'm not much of a fan of _our_ type of music. I guess anything with a bit of power in it. Electric guitars, drums, you know? Bill used to play Pearl Jam a lot. I like that.'

'Really?' she said, 'I wouldn't have thought you a fan of muggle music.'

'Yours?'

'I like The Cardigans, and Garbage, and - err- Smashing Pumpkins,' she said, 'No Doubt.'

'I don't know half of those bands,' he admitted, 'When we get back, you should play some of their songs for me.'

'I've got a couple of CD's with me. We can play them on my disk player in a while.'

'Okay,' he said, 'I believe it was your turn.'

'All right,' she said, 'Worst memory?'

He was silent for a little while. 'I guess I'd have to choose between leaving the two of you last winter, and being unable to stop you from being tortured.'

Hermione took the answer almost like a physical blow. She had perhaps meant for the question to be light-hearted, or maybe she had not really considered his possible answers. She fell silent almost instantly.

'Mistaking Lavender for you just after Christmas comes up high too though,' he added, hoping to defuse the situation a little.

'Wait- what?' she said, a grin flashing but obviously confused, 'When did that happen?'

'I was reading about the apparation exams on the bulletin board when I had just arrived back at Hogwarts. She came up behind me and put her hands in front of my eyes, saying "Guess who?".'

'And you said my name?'

'Yes'

'Even though we had not been on speaking terms since October?'

'Yes'

'Ouch.'

'Ouch indeed,' Ron said, 'Not really the welcome back she had hoped for.'

'So why did you say my name?' she asked.

'I had been sitting at the Burrow thinking of you all Christmas. It was a miracle that Harry didn't notice. I guess he was too busy fawning over Ginny.' Hermione chuckled.

'My turn,' he said, 'You just asked five questions in a row.'

'You didn't have to answer any of them except the first.'

'Cheat.' Hermione smiled at him mockingly. 'All right, speaking of cheating: have you ever cheated on an exam?'

'No!' she said, her well-known distaste for cheating on exams clearly ringing in her voice, 'But I have let you copy quite a bit of my history exams if I recall correctly.'

'You couldn't very well let me fail that subject,' Ron said, 'but let me rephrase my question: have you ever used magic to tweak the circumstances at school in your favour?'

Ron was quite proud with this question. Hermione hesitated for a moment, then coolly replied 'no'. Her hesitation was enough for him to know that she had in fact done just that. He also knew that Hermione would not say anything more on the matter. He would have to weed it out from her on the long run.

'Favourite sibling?'

Ron thought about it for a while. Other people had asked that question before, and he had always said he loved each of his siblings equal (exept Percy obviously). In truth, it was quite different.

'Bill will always be my oldest brother,' he said, 'but he's almost ten years older than me. He was off to Hogwarts most of the time. Charley is a bit younger, but he also played with us a bit more. But Charley is a bit of a loner. He liked taking walks outside, which I despised at that point. Still do, mind you! Besides, he was also at Hogwarts most of the time.'

'Percy is, well… Percy. He spent most of his time in his room, reading books and polishing his… prefect badge. We give him a lot of shit, but he's a good guy underneath all of that pompous behaviour. As brothers, we just don't connect that well.'

'George is fickle, you know? You can have these amazing talks with him one day, and then he gives you the cold shoulder the next. He tells you all vacation long that you can have any product from his shop, and then charges you like a regular customer when you get there.'

'So which of them is it?'

'None of them,' Ron said, 'Ginny has always been my favourite. Why else do you think I'm so protective of her?'

'Ginny?' Hermione said in obvious disbelief, 'Ginny Weasley? Short, stocky, red hair-'

'The one and only,' Ron said.

'So why is she your favourite?'

'For ten years, we did nearly everything together. There was not a day that went by that we did not play together. She likes the same things as I do, and she has the same sense of humour.'

They continued asking each other questions for another fifteen minutes. Most of the questions were innocent. Hermione asked him about his youth. She wanted to know what his days looked like, how his mother home-schooled him, and what his favourite past-time had been. He asked her about muggle school. It was perhaps the greatest difference between both of them; Hermione had gone to kindergarten, nursery school, primary school , and had spent some summers at a school camp. Ron had been home-schooled. He had not had any compulsory school before Hogwarts.

Though their schooling had been different, their situation at home had been the same. Hermione's mother had been working part-time to care for her. Ron's mother had been a full-time mum, and having to take care of a household full of boys was a job on its own.

Things got a little awkward when Hermione innocently asked him about his most embarrassing memory. 'It's got to be asking Fleur to the Yule Ball!' she said, a grin flashing on her face.

'No,' Ron said dejectedly, 'I wish it was.'

Hermione's brow furrowed. 'You have gone through something worse than that?'

'Yes', he replied, the memory still vividly etched into his mind. 'It was in the summer between fourth and fifth year. We were at Grimmould Place, and there was a lot of business of the Order going on around the house, with Lupin, Tonks, Snape, Moody, and Dung coming over all the time, having meetings, not to mention Kreacher popping in and out at every inopportune moment. You remember how crowded that place was, right?'

'Well, I had slept in one day, deliberately stalling so I would be last to get into the bathroom. It even worked; I got to use the bathroom last.'

'Why did you want to use the bathroom last?'

'Because then, nobody would interrupt me. Everybody would be downstairs, having breakfast.'

'Okay, so why did you want to be alone?'

'I was- err- looking for a bit of release, so to speak,' Ron said. He was fidgeting with the power cord of his headphones. He wasn't sure anymore if recounting this particular memory was such a good idea.

'Release?' Hermione asked, clearly not understanding his euphemism.

'I needed to relieve myself of some tension.'

'Tension?' Hermione said, 'You mean you were constipated?'

'No Hermione,' he replied, hoping she would understand without him having to spell it out for her, 'I mean like- frustration.'

'I'm sorry, Ron, I don't understand.'

'Bloody hell, Hermione,' he mumbled, 'I was, you know…' He made an unmistakable gesture with his hand. Hermione instantly understood.

'Anyways, I obviously wasn't waiting for company at the door. I was under the shower, minding my own business, when the door suddenly opened.'

'You forgot to lock it?' Hermione gasped.

'No, I locked it! I even locked it magically. That stupid Kreacher had used house elf magic to open it.'

'He walked in on you?'

'Yeah,' he admitted, 'Closely followed by my mother and Fleur. Apparently, mum had forgotten I was still in the shower, and had asked Sirius to send the elf to help clean the bathroom with her and Fleur.'

Hermione didn't reply. He could see it was costing her a lot of effort not to burst into laughter. The corners of her mouth and eyes were trembling. She hid her face behind her hands in an effort to keep impassive.

'You are allowed to laugh,' Ron said, 'If it had been Harry, I would have been rolling on the floor. Alas..'

Hermione sniggered loudly. 'I'm sorry Ron,' she said, unable to keep from laughing, 'It's just- I'm trying to imagine how they would react.'

'Obviously, Fleur high-tailed it out, my mum was angry at me, and the elf began muttering about how the blood traitor was "wasting his worthless seed".'

Hermione let out a full throated bellow of a laugh. She clasped her hands on her mouth wide-eyed as several other passengers looked at her in irritation. It helped her to calm down enough to abate her laughter down to an amused chuckle.

'So what about yours? It can't be worse than mine.'

'You would be surprised,' Hermione said, the last of her laughter dying out.

'Amaze me,' Ron said.

'All right,' she said, 'Do you remember how Fred and George offered me and Ginny a free Patented Daydream Charm on our first visit to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes? I thought it would be a good idea to accept their offer. I knew we would be working through a large amount of homework, and you know how I hard it is for me to relax then.'

'So at one point, I'm sitting in the library, and I had just finished my Herbology essay. All seven feet of it. I knew there were some points I should have expanded upon, but my head was swimming with fatigue. You had been poisoned a few nights before, and we were just back on speaking terms. I thought it would be a good idea to use the charm. So I popped one in my mouth, not expecting it to kick in immediately.'

'So there I was, sitting in the library, surrounded by about a million fellow students, having this very vivid daydream.' She looked at him hopefully.

'That's it?' Ron asked, 'That's not even remotely in the neighbourhood of my-'

'Those daydream charms are color-coded,' Hermione said suddenly, 'A fact Fred and George didn't care to mention.'

'Yeah, I think I heard them talking about that once. Green was for dreams where you can fly, blue was for dreams where you were famous-'

'They gave me a red one.'

'Red?'

'My vivid daydream, the one I was blissfully unable to awake out of until it was finished, was a wet one.'

Ron smirked. 'I woke up a half an hour later,' Hermione continued, 'Sweaty, feeling both satisfied and murderous. Most of the students had not noticed, but I swear a couple of seventh year Ravenclaw boys studying for their N.E.W.T.s kept glancing at me all the time.'

Their flight was taking them from west to east. The sun dipped below the horizon at what felt like four 'o clock to Ron. Hermione told him it would be best if he tried to get some sleep, but even though he was still fatigued from everything they had been through the past year, Ron could not rest. He flipped through an airline folder in a pocket of his chair twice, continued to fiddle with the radio, which still played mostly classical music and jazz, neither of which were his cup of tea.

His unease greatly irritated Hermione, who pressed her Discman in his hands.

'Here,' she said, pushing the headphones onto his ears and turning on the device. 'See if you like this.'

Ron leaned back into his chair as the music started playing. Hermione had told him it was a new CD by a band called Nirvana. She assured him that if Ron enjoyed Pearl Jam, he would enjoy Nirvana too. As the CD started playing, Ron recognised the first song from the radio. He had enjoyed the song then, but hadn't heard the name of the band, and so had not been able to listen to more of them.

After an hour, Ron set aside the headphones. Hermione was asleep in the chair next to him. He wondered how a girl like her could walk around with such a brilliant taste for music. He was sure the other girls at school would have hated it (except Ginny and Luna perhaps). He wondered if all of her CD's were as good as this.

Having grown up with his mother ever present, he had mostly listened to her music. He did not mind Celestina Warbeck (her music brought back several nice memories) but it certainly did not make him feel like this music did. When Bill had started playing muggle music, Ron felt rather ashamed listening along with him. He felt like it was somehow wrong to enjoy it, especially since his mother lamented her son's "aggressive, sloppy music". It was only during their fifth year that Ron had first bought a CD of his own.

Ron stretched out his legs. He had been seated for nearly eight hours by now, and his legs were beginning to feel uneasy. He tried shaking them a little, but that solved very little. He unbuckled his seatbelt and got up. The lights in the airplane had been turned down, and most of the passengers were either asleep or watching the movie. He had seen several people get up and move about a little. Ron decided to follow suit. Leaving Hermione asleep in her chair, he crept towards the back of the plane.

He passed a curtain that divided the business class and the economy class seating. Economy class was a lot bigger, but the passengers had a lot less space, he noticed. The chairs were smaller, and spaced closer together. Some passengers had put their chair all the way back into a reclining position, half-forcing the people behind them to do the same.

Slowly, the feeling in his legs returned to normal. He sauntered across the aisle a couple of times, before deciding to visit the loo, after which he returned to his seat. Hermione was still asleep. He plomped down on his seat, causing his chair to sag a little, which roused Hermione from her sleep. An irritated sigh escaped her lips, before sleep took her again. Ron tilted the back of his chair down a little further, then closed his eyes, hoping that he would be able to sleep a little.

He woke up an hour later. He had not dreamt, but still felt rather groggy. Hermione was shaking his arm.

'Wake up, sleepy,' she said, 'The captain just announced that we are going to land.'

'Arewethereyet?' he asked, sleep still numbing his mind.

'We're landing in Kuala Lumpur,' Hermione replied, her hand still shaking him, 'We have a stop-over there.'

An hour later, the plane actually touched down. Hermione told him they would have to stay in the transfer area to wait while the plane was being refuelled. He meekly followed her out of the plane, where they took a seat in a large hallway filled with shops. It was quite modern. There were a lot of Asian people there.

'This is strange,' Hermione said after a while. She had been half-heartedly reading a muggle magazine. 'I can't imagine myself sitting in Asia all of a sudden. Can you?'

'No,' Ron said, 'Half-way across the world.'

'After we arrive in Australia,' she said, 'You will have visited over half the continents of the world. Europe, Africa, Asia, and Australia.'

'Well, I guess I know where I'll take you to for our next vacation.'

'America?' Hermione asked.

'No, the south pole, obviously…'

Hermione swatted him over the head with the magazine. He grinned.

They were back in the plane a couple of hours later. Ron checked the itinerary. It took him a while to decipher most of what it said, but it looked like it would take another five hours to arrive in Darwin. Those five hours seemed to take ages to pass. He was thoroughly bored during each of them. Hermione urged him to sleep, but the sun was already up and his body would not yield to his fatigue. He had sat in his chair, eyes closed, for over an hour when breakfast was served. He was wide awake after a single bite. Hermione had warned him he would not be able to sleep after having breakfast, and she was greatly irritated that he had ignored her protests. His stomach had been growling however, and Ron knew he would definitely not sleep on an empty stomach (last year's camping trip had proven that).

Hermione was still glowering when they exited the plane in Darwin. Ron had to stifle a yawn while they waited for their luggage. Ron positioned himself at the start of the luggage belt, hoping to be the first to get their backpack. It turned out that he was not the only one who had that idea, and he had to spend over fifteen minutes elbowing his way between other passengers. When he returned to Hermione carrying their backpack, Hermione eyed him critically. When he mentioned how pushy people had been, she lashed out at him.

'I told you not to wait for the luggage there!' she snapped as they trotted off to customs, 'So stop whining about it.'

'Hey, I'm not whining!' he replied hotly. His mood not having been improved over the last 24 hours. 'I'm just telling you that the rest of the passengers were pushy!'

'Oh please, Ronald,' she sneered, 'You were as bad as any of them.'

They continued rowing until they left the customs area (the air conditioning stopped right after customs, further enhancing Ron's foul mood) and a man wearing a dark grey suit stepped up to them.

'Ronald,' Hermione said, a little red-faced in anger, 'Why don't you take that backpack and shove it-'

'Miss Granger?' the man said, thankfully interrupting what was bound to be a fascinating storage proposal.

'Err- Yes?'

'My name is Leonard Bernstein,' he replied with a heavy Australian accent while extending his arm to her, 'I'm the ministry official that was sent to help you upon your arrival.'

'Hi,' she said, shaking his hand. Bernstein then extended his hand to Ron, who also shook it.

'I was instructed by your father to ask you a question to verify your identities. It may seem a little superfluous now, but I hope you don't mind. We want to be sure we don't send any of your enemies to your parents. There are still quite a few of them on the loose I believe.'

'Miss Granger,' Bernstein said, 'What did your father discuss with your parents at Diagon Alley before the start of your second year at Hogwarts?'

'The function of the mouth harmonica, and its practical appliance in everyday life.' Ron chuckled a bit. Leave it to his father to want to know about these things. 'He was quite surprised to learn it was a musical instrument.'

'Thank you,' he replied, then turned to Ron, 'Mister Weasley, what was the name of the teddybear which was transfigured by your twin brothers?'

'Mister Boo-boo,' Ron answered, feeling a bit silly.

'Correct on both accounts,' Bernstein replied, 'Would you like to use the portkey today, or would you like to get some rest, and head out to Brisbane tomorrow? Either way, you will only be able to make contact with your parents in a few days' time.'

Hermione turned to Ron, asking him what he preferred. He told her it was really her decision, and that he didn't mind either way. His head was pounding though, and he hoped that whatever decision she made would lead to them checking into a hotel soon.

'Are you feeling up to heading on? A portkey trip is never really comfortable.'

'Sure,' he lied, 'Lead the way.'

Ten minutes later, Hermione, Ron, and Bernstein were standing behind a small building just off from the airport. They were clustered around a hubcap. It was a bit grimy. Ron had placed his hand on the side of it, leaving enough room for Hermione to place her hand comfortable on the top.

'Just a few seconds now,' Bernstein said holding the hubcap with a single finger while he checked his watch with the other, 'Please make sure you are touching the portkey.' He counted down from three, and when he hit zero, the familiar, rather unpleasant feeling of being hooked into the belly his hand simultaneously glued to the portkey. They were spaced evenly apart, so they rarely bumped into each other. Hermione had told him the distance between Darwin and Brisbane was roughly 3000 kilometres, which meant it was a lengthy trip.

Ron landed flat on his stomach. His headache was now in full-swing, thrumming painfully at the front of his head and behind his eyes. His hands had cramped up underway, and with no way to stretch them, they had been making an already uncomfortable flight unbearable. When they finally arrived, he could not find the strength to straighten out. His backpack had pushed him down even further.

Hermione rushed over to him almost immediately. She quickly pushed the backpack off of his shoulders, then helped him into a sitting position.

'Are you okay?' she said in worry, 'Oh, I'm sorry Ron, we should have stayed in Darwin.'

'No,' he said, 'Turn around.'

When she did, she saw. They were on a hill overlooking the city. They could see the city centre with its numerous towering office buildings. The river was also visible.

'We're there, love,' he said, as he painfully got up, 'We're there!'


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: I'm getting dangerously close to 8.000 words per chapter. I hope you guys don't mind, but really short chapters just aren't my thing..**

'We're there!' He couldn't stop saying it. His back was killing him and his head felt like somebody had used it for bludger practice, but he couldn't wipe the goofy grin from his face. It had taken them nearly a day of travelling, but they had travelled to the other side of the planet! Hermione stood at his side defiantly, a hard gaze in her eyes. Her brown hairs stirred as a cold wind blew in their faces. Her face was pale in the hard light of winter. She pulled the sleeves of her shirt down over her hands absent-mindedly, while studying the city that sprawled out below.

Ron felt a rush of fierce pride at the sight of her. There she stood, proud and strong, after a war. She had suffered, hungered, and cried. She had gone through a year of malnourishment and uncertainty, and still she was standing solid, the weight of her resolve unyielding. He crossed the distance between them, his hands reaching out and wrapping her in a tight hug. She moulded into it completely, her face pressed hard against his chest.

As he held her, he thought for a moment that he could listen in on her emotions. His wand was in the right pocket of his pants, as it always was when he did not use it. Even so, he thought for a moment that he glimpsed something of relief. It passed as quickly as it had come. Had he listened in on Hermione's emotions, or was this his own relief at arriving at their destination? The bond between their wands was starting to confuse matters. _It must have been my own emotion,_ he thought, _Neither of us is holding our wand or performing magic._

* * *

Bernstein was walking away from them, Ron noticed. A car was parked a few dozen paces away from them, and Bernstein produced a set of keys from his pants pocket that opened the trunk. He tossed the portkey hubcap unceremoniously into it. Ron turned his attention back to Hermione. She was still pressed firmly against him. Rubbing her back a little, he tried to extract himself from her. When she reluctantly let go, he could see that she had cried. He kissed her forehead, then wiped the tears from her face. Hermione gave him a weak smile.

'Our ride awaits,' he said, putting his arm around her and steering her towards Bernstein. She followed him meekly. Bernstein opened the car door for them, and Ron helped Hermione in. He then stowed the backpack into the trunk and got into the car on the other side, while Bernstein got in at the driver's seat.

'I'll take you to the hotel your father has arranged,' he said, 'It's not the most luxurious hotel in Brisbane, but I'm sure you will feel more than comfortable.'

Hermione was unusually quiet as they sped down the hill and into the city. Bernstein seemed to have an unusual amount of luck at traffic stops; they would switch from red to green just as he arrived. Ron noticed that Bernstein never anticipated a red light; he was hurtling through the streets at an unusually high speed, and never touched the brakes, even when the traffic lights sprang to green moments before they arrived at an intersection. He also seemed to know exactly where to go. This was obviously not his first trip in Brisbane.

After a good twenty minutes, he stopped the car at an intersection near a small park. He pointed due west, away from the park.

'Miss Granger, the dental clinic of your parents is right there.'

Hermione scooted over to Ron's side and together they looked into the direction Bernstein had pointed to. The street was lined with different shops and businesses. Between a travel agency and grocery stood the clean and well-maintained façade of a dental clinic. The walls were painted white, and a large window displayed the name in bold lettering: Dental Clinic Hermione. They could not see anything inside, the window was opaque. The door opened, and a woman stepped outside with a small child. The little boy was happily sucking on what looked like a lolly-pop.

'Your father,' Bernstein said after the door at fallen shut again, 'is currently at work. Your mother does not work on Tuesdays, and will come back into office the day after tomorrow.'

'She's working part-time?' Hermione asked.

'Yes,' Bernstein replied. 'Is that unusual?'

'My mother used to work full-time. She normally took on fifty-hour workweeks.'

Ron could hear the concern in Hermione's voice. At Hogwarts, she had often spoken of her parents's tireless work ethic. While Hermione was away at school, her parents made long days at work. This way, they could spend the entire vacation with their daughter. From what Hermione had told him, Ron had always thought her parents were very mad about her, unwilling to spend any time apart from her.

'Perhaps she's decided to slow down a little,' Ron offered weakly, 'There isn't any reason for them to make such long hours now.'

'Yes,' she said, her eyes fixed on the clinic, 'But both of them were working tirelessly since before I was born. It's just the way they are, I just don't think my mother would suddenly decide to cut back on her hours.'

Ron wondered for a moment whether they should get out and enter the dental clinic. He was sure the receptionist would try to keep them from entering, but a simple confudus charm would be enough to take care of that. Her father would of course be startled by their appearance, but a quick word might manage to calm him down enough to be able to perform the magic that was required to lift the modifications to his memory. He would then be able to help them in returning Hermione's mother back to normal.

The problem however was that it was a very tricky business to modify someone's memory. Hermione had performed the charm on her parents while they were watching the television; completely at ease, and unsuspecting. If they were unable to explain the situation carefully enough to her father, he might resist the magic, and that could lead to unexpected results. He might permanently forget parts of his memory which Hermione had modified, or the modifications could be made permanent. It was all a very dodgy business, which mostly depended on keeping the subject calm throughout the process.

'You have a scheduled appointment in two days,' Bernstein said, 'As miss Delacour. Mister Weasley will accompany you as your boyfriend. We have arranged for the assistant to schedule both your parents as your dentist.'

Hermione nodded absently. He wondered if she too was thinking of entering today and throwing caution in the wind. Bernstein seemed to suspect the same.

'I can't tell you what to do and what not to do, but I would strongly advise against taking… _rash_ actions. They have been safe and happy for a year now, they won't mind if you wait another two days.'

'Can we drive by their house?' Hermione asked, 'I'd like to see where they live.'

'Sure,' Bernstein said, 'It's quite close to the clinic actually.'

He started the engine again, speeding off. He drove halfway around the park, then took a side street and entered a residential area that held large duplexes. Bernstein stopped the car at the curb in front of one of the houses.

'This is it,' he said cheerfully, 'Number nineteen.'

The building was very pretty. It was made up out of red bricks, with a dark, clay-tiled roof. It struck Ron how similar the house was to Hermione's parents's house in England. The windows were a bit higher, and most of the side of the house was overgrown with vine creepers. At the front of the house was a big glass porch. It was bathed in soft light. There was a painting on an easel facing away from them.

'I didn't know your parents were into painting,' Ron said.

'Neither did I,' she replied, 'But perhaps the took on a-'

The large canvas had blocked the view of a woman sitting behind it. She had just gotten up, staring critically at what she had apparently been painting. Ron noticed how Hermione's mother had the same chocolate brown eyes, the same voluminous head of hair, and the same pale skin. She looked different from what he remembered. Her hair was longer and wilder; he remembered Hermione's mother usually wore it in a tight bun.

Hermione sat staring trancelike at her mother. Her eyes wide and her breathing heavy, Ron half expected her to want to run right up to her mother and perform whatever magic was needed to modify her memory. She remained seated however, her eyes never leaving her mother's face.

'Shall we go on to the hotel?' Bernstein asked with a considerable amount of hesitation. He too was watching Hermione's mother. Hermione didn't immediately reply. Ron reached out and put his hand on Hermione's.

'Yes,' Hermione said after a moment, 'Please do.' She tore her eyes away from the direction of her mother and began a thorough inspection of her jumpers. Bernstein turned the key in the ignition, starting the engine. He rolled away quickly. In that brief moment, Ron saw Hermione's mother looking up from the painting to the road, her eyes meeting his, then moving towards Hermione. The view was obstructed by another car then, and when they were past it, the house was no longer visible.

* * *

The hotel proved to be exactly like Bernstein had said it would be; it was simple and unassuming, but it looked nice regardless. They entered the lobby through a set of rotating doors, which opened out into a hallway with a marble desk. There was a woman standing behind it.

'Welcome to the Elliot Hotel,' she said with a thick Australian accent, 'How may I help you?'

Ron walked up to the counter with Hermione. Bernstein had left, his job of delivering them to the hotel finished. He had wished them lots of luck and success. Hermione had not spoken a word after visiting the house of her parents. She had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since arriving at Brisbane. Ron had hoped that Hermione would make the arrangements at the hotel, but she hardly seemed to have even acknowledged the receptionist.

'Yes,' he replied, 'I think we have a reservation.'

The receptionist, a short girl with close-cropped black hair, opened a folder which was on the desk. 'On what name is the reservation?'

'Granger,' Ron said, but as he did, he was not quite as certain as he had been before. Had his father reserved a room under Hermione's name, or under his own? 'It might also be Weasley,' he added, feeling a bit stupid, 'I'm not sure.'

The girl flipped to the middle of the folder, then started paging back. 'M, K, H, ah, G. First name Hermione?'

'Yes,' Ron said. He had hoped that Hermione would react to the mention of her name, but she stood silently beside him, avoiding all possible eye contact. 'Hermione Jane Granger.'

'Would you like the double, or the two joined singles?'

'Excuse me?' Ron said, not knowing what she meant.

'One room with a bed for two, or two rooms with a single bed.'

'Two rooms,' Ron said. Hermione looked up at him. It was the first instance of her participating in a conversation since she had seen her mother. She glared at him balefully.

The receptionist didn't seem to notice. She filled out a couple of forms in a computer, then asked for their passports. Hermione produced them from her bag, and slammed them onto the marble counter. The receptionist looked at Ron for a moment, then took the passports and finished the check-in. She handed them two keys, smiling as she handed one at Ron, and frowning a little as she handed the other to Hermione.

'The rooms are joined by a door,' she said, 'Room numbers are 312 and 314. You can find them by taking the elevator to the third floor.'

'Thank you,' Ron said, hoisting the backpack up to his shoulders and following Hermione towards a set of brass doors. The opened to reveal a rather small elevator. Ron had to press himself against the back of it to allow Hermione to enter too. She hit the button for the third floor. Ron looked up.

'There aren't any handlebars,' he said, slightly worried, 'Are you sure this is safe?'

Hermione didn't reply. She had turned her back to him and stood in silence. Ron soon realized his fear was baseless; the elevated moved slower than any he had ever been in, those of the ministry. It came to a stop with a 'ding'. Ron followed after Hermione. The passed a couple a doors, then finally reached rooms 312 and 314. Hermione had been given the key to room 314. She inserted the key into the lock, then opened the door. Ron, who was standing behind her, made to follow her, but she slammed the door closed in his face. _Ruddy hell,_ he thought, _why is she so angry at me?_

'Hermione,' he said, straining to keep his voice calm, 'Please open the door.'

'No,' she said. She magically sealed the door, and as she did, Ron listened in on her emotions. They were wild and chaotic. Hermione was feeling hurt, and sad, and angry, but above all she felt afraid.

'Open the door, love,' he said, 'I just want to talk to you.'

It was quiet on the other side of the door. Hermione wasn't doing any magic anymore, so he could not listen in to find out what she was feeling. Ron was feeling angry about Hermione's absurd reaction, but he knew it had nothing to do with him. Breathing deeply, he forced his irritation down. What was he supposed to do now? Hermione had effectively locked him out of her room, and Ron knew enough of Hermione's spellwork not to even attempt to remove the locking charm.

'If you want to talk,' he said, 'I'll be in my room.'

He went over to his own room, and sat the backpack down on the floor. His body was aching with fatigue. His head felt like it could explode, and his legs were killing him. He sat down on the bed, intending to just rest for a moment, hoping he would not fall asleep. He leaned back, and closed his eyes for just a moment.

Bushy brown hair was tickling his face. Still half asleep, he flattened it with his free hand. He moved his hand back to her hips. It was amazing how perfectly Hermione fitted against him. She breathed in deeply, then snuggled up closer. It felt wonderful to lay like this, even though his other arm was pinned between her head and the matrass.

Slowly, his sleepy mind started to realize something unusual was happening. He tried pushing the thought away, intent on falling asleep again, but the more he tried to suppress it, the more awake he became. He suddenly realized he smelled Hermione, the subtle perfume he had grown so fond of clearly discernible. Still in her Weasley sweater, she lay curled up against him.

'Hermione,' he whispered, 'Are you awake?'

'No,' she said.

'Liar.'

Hermione turned around, her face and body so close Ron could count the faint freckles on her face, if his mind had not been constantly interrupting his thoughts with the notion of how close they were together.

'I'm sorry Ron,' Hermione said, 'For the way I treated you.'

Ron opened his mouth to argue with her, but she silenced him.

'No, Ron. I was out of line. You've been nothing but supportive to me. It means a lot to me that you joined me here.'

'Hermione,' he said, 'You don't have to apologize.' He did not know how long he had slept, but the anger and irritation he had felt when she had slammed the door in his face had long since abated. He wondered why. Ron had never been able to swallow his anger at Hogwarts. He knew his classmates took the micky out of him every time he and Hermione had been rowing. He knew Harry loathed their endless discussions. Hermione's first instinct, like his, was to react to anger by lashing out. He would sulk all day long after their rows, minimizing his interaction with Hermione to one-syllable responses.

He wondered if he felt different now because he had swallowed his tongue outside of her door. Waking up next to Hermione might also have calmed him a bit.

'I feel bad about it,' she replied, 'I know the flight was rough, and then I forced you to go through the whole experience of using a portkey for three thousand kilometres. Then we get here, and I slam the door in your face only because you were mature enough to get two rooms while I had hoped to share.'

Ron reached out and smoothed a few unruly strands of her hair back into model. 'I seem to recall you sitting next to me on the plane. Come to think of it, you also took the same portkey, and then you saw your mother for the first time in a year. I think anybody with half a mind would get a little overly emotional at that point.'

Hermione was quiet for a moment. Ron took advantage of her silence by kissing her lips. It quickly evolved into French kissing. Ron was leaning closely against her, propped up by one arm and his head tilted down to kiss Hermione. His free hand was playing with the hem of Hermione's sweater. Hermione was laying on her back, her eyes closed, and her hair fanned out behind her. It had grown very long over the course of a year.

His fingers were still playing with the hem of her sweater when his thumb brushed the bare skin of her stomach. It was soft, and smooth, and inviting. He stroked it again, and when he did, he heard Hermione inhale deeply. She was apparently enjoying it. He let go of her sweater altogether and started rubbing her stomach. Hermione's hands found their way to his hair, pulling him closer while kissing him furiously.

Twenty minutes later, they were interrupted in what was fast becoming a desperate struggle between wanting to touch more of each other and fighting to succumb to that urge by a loud rumble of Ron's stomach. He had not eaten since their second flight. His headache was also returning furiously. His lips detached from Hermione's. He looked down at her, and saw that both his hands were under her sweater. One of them was on her back, the other was brushing the side of her chest, right over the band of her bra. He guiltily pulled them out, then sat up at the side of the bed. Hermione quickly followed suit. Her hands had been on his chest. It felt as if she had been trying to touch all of it at the same time.

'If this is what every apology is going to be like,' Hermione said while straightening her hair, 'Sign me up for another row.'

Ron chuckled. 'What time is it?' The windows were still closed, and he had lost all sense of time. He checked his watch. 'Eleven in the morning? Well, that can't be right!'

'That's London time,' Hermione corrected, 'We're nine hours ahead here, so it's actually eight in the evening.'

'I guess we'll have to grab some dinner then,' he said, while yawning. He felt like it was early morning. He had never really experienced jet lag before, but he could tell he wasn't much of a fan. 'How do we do that?' It occurred to him that he had not a clue about how to find a good restaurant.

Naturally, Hermione had the answer. She told him she had looked up a couple of good restaurants before they left, and suggested asking the receptionist which restaurant was good. Hermione left for her room quickly, leaving him on the bed. Stifling another yawn, Ron got up and walked to the bathroom. He splashed some water on his face, which helped in waking him up. He checked his appearance in the mirror. His red hair was in a desperate need of a cut. It was starting to curl around his ears, and most of his brow was obscured. His face was still a little sunken in, but not in the degree that Hermione's was.

He thought back at the many discussions that had had about it. He knew his mood had been foul; it always was when he had not eaten enough. Hermione was dividing the little food they could scrounge together in uneven parts; his was by far the largest, Harry's was roughly a third, and hers barely a tenth. He had rowed with her about it, when Harry was sitting watch and they could talk privately. Hermione had listed her motivations, and had never yielded ground to him. She insisted that her portions should be smaller because she was: a) smaller, and b) not a big eater to begin with.

The fights were worse when he had been wearing the locket. His mood would be foul, his mind still racing with all the little insecurities and discomforts that seemed to only plague him. With his frayed nerves and weakened patience, he would lash out at Hermione; the one person who did not deserve such treatment. He had loathed himself after those fights. He had to relieve Harry from watch sometimes, and those nights had been the longest and loneliest of his life. Wallowing in self-deprecation and insecurity, he had sat by the feeble fire feeling colder and emptier than ever before.

'Earth to Ron?' Hermione said, 'Do you copy, over?'

Startling from his thoughts, Ron suddenly noticed Hermione by his side. She had put on a change of clothes, finally forgoing his old Weasley sweater in favour of a blue cardigan he had never seen her in before.

'Sorry,' he said, feeling a bit silly.

'You were pretty far away for a moment,' Hermione said, offering him a gentle smile.

'Yeah,' he said, 'But I'm here now. Let's eat!'

Together, they left the hotel room and took the elevator down. When they arrived at the lobby, Ron saw the same receptionist standing behind the counter. She smiled at him, and gave Hermione a half-hearted greeting. Hermione walked up to the counter.

'We're about to head out for a bite to eat. Do you know any good restaurants nearby?'

'Yes,' the girl replied a little cold, 'What sort of food would you like to eat?'

'Nothing extravagant,' Hermione said, 'Just something with moderately good food and reasonable prices.'

'Well,' the girl said, 'You've got a pizzeria on the right-hand corner of the street. They aren't bad. Two blocks further along is a good Indian place.'

'Okay,' Hermione said merrily, 'Thank you very much!'

'You're welcome.'

Hermione turned to Ron, 'I guess it's either Italian or Indian food, Ron. Why don't you choose, I don't really care much either way.'

Ron was about to say he would like to try the Italian food, when the lady behind the counter asked if she could offer a suggestion. She was smiling now, clearly warming up to both of them. Her Australian accent was also more pronounced. 'I know a nice pub that serves some really good affordable food. It's not a five-star restaurant, but the food Is delicious none the less. It's more of a students's pub. It is a bit out of the way though. You'd have to walk five blocks, then turn right and walk another two.'

Hermione didn't seem to mind, so they thanked the receptionist, and set off together. They were still in front of the hotel when he felt Hermione's hand reach his. He closed his hand around hers. They walked in silence for a little while, enjoying the strange sensation of being in a large city neither had visited before. After a little while, they started talking.

'Look,' Hermione said, pointing at a shop across the street, 'I think that's the Indian place the receptionist mentioned earlier.'

There was a large picture of a man on one of the windows. He had several arms, and three faces. Each of them were looking in a different direction. 'Who's he?' Ron asked. Hermione said the person was called 'Shiva', and that he was one of the important gods for the Hindu's.

'His wife is called Parvati', Hermione continued, 'One of the Patil twins was named after her.'

They continued on, Hermione zipping her coat up completely. It was strange to walk outside in mid-June and to feel the cold of winter. Ron had just started to enjoy the summer heat at the Burrow. Last winter in England had been very cold, with lots of snow and extended periods of sub-zero degrees. The following spring been a rather drear experience; lots of rain and hard winds. The weather had taken a turn for the better right after the battle at Hogwarts. The hard winds had died down, and the temperature quickly rose to very comfortable levels.

They had taken a right-hand turn after five blocks. The distance was indeed far, but neither of them really minded it. They were enjoying their walk far too much. Hermione was sheltered safely from the cold by Ron, who had draped his arm around her shoulders and pressed her firmly against himself. They talked of simple, care-free things, like the advertisements that hung here and there, the shops they passed, and what magical creatures could be found in the outback.

'Acromantulas are indigenous to the island of Borneo, Ron,' Hermione assured him, 'You won't find them here. There are quite a few regular species of spiders here that can be lethal to humans, though.'

'Are you serious?' Ron asked, shuddering at the thought, 'Half the deadly creatures in "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them" live here, and then there are crocodiles and deadly spiders here too?'

'Yes,' Hermione said, 'But I wouldn't worry about them too much. Most of those creatures don't venture out into the cities.'

'Look,' Ron said, now wishing he had not asked about the Australian wildlife, 'I think that's the pub.'

As they neared the pub, Ron saw that it was quite crowded. Most of the people looked like they were over twenty. Many of them were having dinner. The pub turned out to be quite large, and catered for at least fifty people. Most of them were seated at tables for four, though Ron and Hermione managed to get a table at the back for two. Ron quickly shed his coat; it was very warm inside the pub. In one of the corners hung a large television which showed a soccer match. The sound was muted by the general laughter and talking that took place among many of the tables. A waitress sought them out quite quickly.

'Hello! My name is Katy. Would you like to see the menu?' she asked. She was quite pretty. Her hair was almost as bushy as Hermione's, though not nearly as long. Hermione's hair hung loose; the wild disarray of voluminous strands of her brown hair framing her pale face. The waitress's hair was held back by a ponytail. Her lips were also thin, like Hermione's, but her eyes were blue and round. Her smile was toothy, though several of them were discoloured.

'Err- yes please,' Ron said, 'Can we order drinks too?'

'Sure thing,' Katy said, taking out a pencil and note pad.

'I'd like a butter— OW!'

'Two glasses of beer please,' Hermione said, cutting roughly into his sentence while kicking his shins below the table, 'Thanks.'

The waitress disappeared. Hermione looked at him. Ron scowled back.

An hour later, Ron and Hermione finished their meals. Ron had ordered a large steak, which came accompanied by an even larger bowl of fries. Hermione had ordered a rib-eye steak, which she had managed to eat over three quarters of. Her side of fries was as enormous as Ron's, and though she was far from through it, she was diligently eating fries from it.

Hermione took a sip of her beer. Ron watched her as she did. It was remarkable how much Hermione seemed to comply with his image of what was pretty and what was not. Her voluminous hair, chocolate brown eyes, and petite figure all catered exactly to what he sought for in a girl. The simple fact that her personality and general demeanour was just as beautiful and unique as her appearance made him feel like he was the luckiest guy in the world. This wonderful woman, this strong and wilful creature, was his girlfriend now. He was allowed to kiss her.

'What are thinking about,' Hermione asked, after setting the glass back down.

'Nothing,' Ron said, 'Just something about Quidditch.' He remembered his first hesitant realization that he felt more than just friendship for her. It was somewhere during their fourth year, and he had lain awake on his bed for over an hour, trying to come up with reasons why he should not be in love with her. One of them had been the obvious possibility that it would tear the three of them apart if Hermione ever found out he was in love with her. Come to think of it, he seemed to recall that he had thought that Hermione 'was not his type'. Thinking back at those days, Ron realized he had been more than interested in blondes then. When had that changed? Did he not know what he liked back then, or had his long-lasting infatuation changed what he found attractive in women?

'Must be something big,' she said eventually, and Ron suddenly realized that he had been watching Hermione for a while now. He smiled guiltily.

They had finished their meal, but neither Hermione nor Ron made any move to leave the pub. When the waitress came over to clear away their plates, Hermione ordered another round of beers. Ron liked the muggle beer, though was more bitter and sometimes made him shiver when he downed a bit too much. Hermione drank it in small nips, though she took so many of them, she was finished with her second glass almost as quick as Ron was. They ordered another round, and then another. Hermione's nips were getting larger as time progressed, and though she drank slower, it was obvious that she was getting a little tipsy. Ron found himself feeling more than a little unsteady too.

A substantial part of the other visitors of the pub had retired home. Ron and Hermione relocated themselves to a soft couch that stood against one of the windows. Hermione had sat down close to him, and within a minute, he found her lips on his own. _She tastes like beer_, was Ron's first thought. This did little to keep him from her; quite the opposite. After a while, Hermione broke their kiss, and proceeded to suck his earlobe. She bit it ever so slightly, then whispered into his ear 'Let's go back to the hotel'.

Ron hurriedly paid for the beers and the food, then quickly zipped up his coat. Hermione was already waiting by the door. The trip back to the hotel was the exact opposite of the trip from the hotel to the pub. They walked a lot faster and in complete silence. Ron was trying to recall anything useful from _Twelve Failsafe Ways to Charm Witches._ He was starting to rue the fact that he had not packed it. He was excited. So much so that it constricted his ability to walk fast. Hermione had not expanded further on what she wanted to do at the hotel, but Ron was quite sure it would not be reading books or watching television. She had been kissing him for a while at the pub, so he doubted it would just that.

They must have looked rather comically by the time they arrived at the hotel. They had gotten to the point that they would have to break into a run to speed up any further. Ron was deep in concentration, thinking of chapter five; and the cautionary story in it about letting her set the pace of things. He would have to careful about that.

The receptionist that had recommended the pub was gone, replaced by an elderly man. He greeted them in a friendly, yet perfunctory way, all the while ruffling through some papers on his desk. They got into the elevator. While the doors closed torturously slow, Ron became highly aware of how small the elevator really was. He stood against the far corner, while Hermione was pressing the button of the third floor repeatedly. When the doors closed completely, and the elevator began its slow ascent, Hermione turned to him and closed the distance. His arms wrapped themselves around her waist as she interlaced her fingers behind his neck, drawing him down for a short but passionate kiss. Whatever fire was burning inside her had not been cooled by the cold of night.

The doors opened again with a slight squeal, and they broke apart guiltily. Hermione squeezed through the opening and walked determinately to their hotel rooms. When she did, Ron wondered for a moment if they would be going into his room, or hers. When Hermione seemed to realize the same thing, they made eye contact.

'Your place or mine,' Ron asked in what he hoped was a cool tone. Hermione broke into a laugh, then took out her own key and went inside. Ron followed suit.

Hermione's room was an exact mirror of his own room, though the painting of a pair of orchids that hung above his bed was a painting of a beach with a palm tree over hers. Her bed sheets were also still unruffled. Hermione stood next to the bed in what looked like considerable uncertainty. She sat down on the edge of the bed almost mechanically. Ron joined her. He felt highly self-conscious. Hermione fidgeted with her fingernails again. Ron reached out and took her hand, interlacing his fingers with hers to keep her from her nervous habit. It seemed to calm her down enough to get her to look up at him. 'It's just me,' Ron said, improvising from chapter eight, 'It's just you and me.'

Hermione stretched out her back and neck, craning her head up to kiss Ron on the lips. Ron pulled Hermione onto his lap. Her body propped up on his knees, Hermione was nearly level with him. Her arms slipped around his neck. Ron settled his hands onto the outside of her thighs, rubbing them softly, but making sure not to touch the insides before she had shown some sign of interest in it. It did not take long before the sign arrived. Hermione had deepened the kiss into a very passionate snog, which she was most definitely enjoying. She now sat astride him, her legs on either side. Ron could not resist moving his hands onto her ass.

Their kiss was becoming more and more sloppy. Hermione had seemingly forgone any restraint and had become singularly intent on touching, kissing, and sucking Ron as passionately as she could. Her hands were freely roaming his body, the fingertips of one hand chasing unseen trails over his back while the other was firmly gripping a large portion of his hair. Ron's hands were massaging her bum, but he really didn't know how to do that other than just rubbing them a little. He pulled her in closer, and as he did, Hermione wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.

One of her hands was now pulling on his shirt a little, in an effort to slip under it. He reached for it, then tugged hard, liberating the shirt from between his body and his pants. Ron pulled it over his head, and dropped it on the floor. Hermione leaned back (Ron tried not to spend any attention to the pleasant feeling of her hips pressing against his) and looked him over. Ron could see her eyes lingering at his nipples and then at the thin strip of red hair that poked up from his pants. He was pale, more pale than usual. Their quest for the Horcruxes had left them little time for sunbathing, and his nearly milky-white skin was marred only by a myriad of freckles that flooded down from his neck to his stomach.

Hermione pulled her vest up too, revealing a dark indigo camisole. She removed that too, leaving her only in her bra. Now it was Ron's turn to gaze at her. She was as pale as he remembered her. He had seen her like this at the shopping mall, but she seemed to have lost a bit of her insecurity.

'You look magnificent,' Ron said, 'Simply magnificent.'

The effects of three big meals per day for a couple of weeks were starting to become visible. Hermione's waist was still curving in, but it was not as dramatic as before. Her belly was less pronounced, the abs slowly disappearing behind a soft layer of fat. Marred here and there by a small scar or birthmark, Hermione's skin was smooth and pale; as pale as his own.

Hermione reached behind her back and unclasped the bra in a single movement. Ron watched her in silent awe. He had been imagining this moment for several years, and he wondered if it would be anything like he had thought it would. Hermione slipped the bra from her shoulders, and her two small breasts became visible as the cups of her bra released themselves from her body.

The first thought that crossed his mind was that Hermione's breasts, while much smaller than Lavender's, suited her stunningly. Then, he felt a slight tinge of irritation that his first thought had to involve Lavender. He had wanted to share this with just her, and his immature behaviour of more than a year ago had taken a bit of the shine off of this moment. Nevertheless, he looked Hermione directly into the eye, confirming once again to her how much he loved her, and that he thought she was very pretty. Unsure if he was allowed to both look and feel, he asked her.

'So long as you don't squeeze or pinch,' she said huskily, 'You can do pretty much anything you'd like.'

His hands immediately travelled up from her bum, sliding over her light skin to cup her breasts. They were soft and silky (as Lavender's had been, he thought with considerable irritation) and though they too small to fill his large hands, they were unmistakably _Hermionish_.

'You have no idea,' he said, 'how long I've wanted to do this.'

'Tell me,' she said, leaning forward and planting several soft kisses in the crook of his neck. Ron shivered.

'Fifth year,' he said, 'On the train ride to Hogwarts, you changed into your robes. You dropped them by accident, and bent down to pick them up.'

'So?'

'So you bent down—' Ron shivered as Hermione began kissing and nibbling his earlobe, '—and I had this wonderful view right down your blouse.'

'Is that why you couldn't talk to me for an hour after we changed?' she asked, in a much less husky, and much more curious voice, 'I might have guessed; your ears had gone ruby-red.'

Ron slowly leaned back to lay down on the mattress. Hermione followed him, kissing him as they went. When he was flat on his back, he looked down at his hands, which were still playing with Hermione's boobs. Hermione was bent over him, and gravity was pulling her boobs down. It looked rather sexy. He experimentally took one of her nipples between his thumb and index finger, and rubbed it softly. Hermione gave a content purr of joy. She slipped off him, sliding down next to him on the bed. Ron turned to his side, pulling Hermione closer to him. One of his arms was awkwardly pinned between his body and the bed, while the other was draped lazily over her bum.

'Hermione,' he said, 'I love you.'

'I love you too,' she replied.

They sat in silence for a moment, and Ron marvelled at how easy this all seemed. He could just reach out and touch her. He could just open his mouth and tell her what he felt about her. He could breathe in that lovely mixture of her perfume and her natural smell without fear of whether anyone else would notice. Her hair lay everywhere, and he had to brush some of it off of his face as it tickled his nose. The smile on Hermone's face reached her eyes, which were looking at him in silent joy.

'I want you,' he said, knowing he was venturing into very unfamiliar territory now. They had exchanged _I-love-you_s before. Their bonded wands had made them share their feeling of lust before. Hermione had felt the boner in his pants when they had kissed after buying their new wands. This was different though. Hermione would have to respond to it now. Even no response was a response. He knew not what she would say. Would she tell him off? He knew she felt the same sort of emotions, and she had admitted to them too. Still, he didn't know if he was being too forward or not.

'I want you too,' she said, blushing a little, but not breaking eye contact. It took a while for Ron to register the words. When they did, a weight dropped from his shoulders. At the same time, it hit him that their feelings of lust and want had just become as easy to talk about as saying "I love you" had. It was a simple fact. They were in a relationship, and that included physical love for one another. Everything was still new and exciting, and Ron was quite sure Hermione would not be up for everything he was up for, but they were going to do those things eventually.

'Well—' he said, not really knowing what to say anymore, '—Good.'

For a couple of minutes, Ron and Hermione busied themselves with kissing. Ron had slipped the arm that was pinned between his body and the bed under Hermione's head, and he held her close. His other hand had wandered back to her boobs again, and was gently fondling one of them. Hermione's hands were roaming non-stop over his torso. They moved slowly, but they never stopped.

After a while, he felt one of her hands drop down to the front of his pants. She began undoing his belt. After tugging the buckle open, her fingers reached for the button of his pants. Ron didn't know what to do. The hand fondling her had stopped moving altogether. Was he supposed to say something? He knew asking her if she was sure about this would be the right thing to do, but right now, he didn't really want to do the right thing. Still, he didn't want to botch it up, so in the end he simply made a bit of a mumble and a grunt that ended vaguely like a question.

Hermione disengaged her lips from his, and looked at him for a moment. Then, she flipped open his pants, the button zipper springing open in one go. His erection slipped into the vacated space immediately. Hermione's hand was just inches away from it, and only his underwear kept it from view. Both of them looked down at what had just happened. Then, both of them looked at each other.

Ron had never felt like this before. Hermione lay next to him, her hand inches away from his privates. Emotions and thoughts tumbled over each other. He had never been as turned on as he had been now, but was he supposed to say something? Should he ask her if she wanted to touch it? Did she want to see it? Was he allowed to open her pants? _Bloody hell, _he thought, _what am_ _I supposed to do?_

Hermione seemed as confused and as unsure as he was. Her hand was still hovering over his crotch. Was he supposed to give her some sort of permission? Was she regretting opening his pants? At the same time, he remembered his promise to his mother. Was this going to be a problem? Would this lead to sex? Was he ready for that? Was she?

Hermione's hand reached out and opened her own pants. It revealed dark black panties. Then, before Ron could even process what had happened, Hermione grabbed hold of his hair with both her hands and pressed her lips on his. They kissed, and as they did, Ron felt her hips shifting in his direction. He moved closer too. Their bodies pressed together below the waist. Ron was certain that Hermione could feel his hard-on against the soft mound above her own private parts. She moved her hips forwards and backwards a little, grinding against his body. Every time she did, Ron felt a wave of lust course through his body. He grabbed her butt and squeezed it softly, which elicited an utterly satisfying moan from Hermione. His other hand had found its way back to her breasts.

This went on for a couple of minutes, until Ron could contain himself no longer. His body released, and a dark stain emerged in his pants. Hermione continued a little while longer, but after a few more thrusts, she too stopped. Ron kissed Hermione on the lips, a gentle, loving kiss he hoped would convey some of the emotions he was feeling. Hermione smiled at him, then hugged him tightly. Neither of them said a word for a long time, until Hermione broke the silence by asking Ron what time it was. He checked his watch. 'Two 'o clock, so its eleven in the evening.'

'Would you like to stay here tonight?' she asked, 'In bed with me?'

'Sure,' Ron said, 'I'd love to.'


End file.
